EDGAR FRANKL 


314A 


IN  AND  OUT 


The  girl  weighed,  perhaps,  one  hundred  and  twenty  pounds,  and  handling 
that  amount  of  weight  was  a  mere  joke  to  Wilkins 


BY 


EDGAR   FRANKLIN 


Frontispiece  by 
PAUL  STAHR 


NEW  YORK 

W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1917,  BY 
W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 


PMM  or 

BRAUNWORTH  *  CO. 

BOOK  MANUFACTURIR8 

BROOKLYN,    N.  V. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I.  THE  GREAT  UNRECOGNIZED i 

II.  THEORY'S  VICTIM 18 

III.  OPPORTUNITY 35 

IV.  THE  RELUCTANT  ONE 52 

V.  THE  WEE  SMA'  HOURS 74 

VI.  JOHNSON  ROLLER  PROPOSES 97 

VII.  THE  BUTTERFLY 117 

VIII.  SCORNED 136 

IX.  CRIME? 157 

X.  THE  WEB 175 

XL  THE  OTHER  LADY 195 

XII.  THE  CRASH 217 

XIII.  IN  THE  Box 236 

XIV.  CONCERNING  THREE  GROUPS 256 

XV.  THICK  AND  FAST 273 

XVI.  THE  LIE 294 

T 


2135581 


IN  AND  OUT 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  GREAT  UNRECOGNIZED 

UP  in  the  ring,  the  long-nosed  person  who 
had  been  announced  as  Kid  Horrigan 
was  having  things  much  his  own  way  with 
the  smaller  person  billed  as  the  Bronx  Tornado. 

It  was  the  wont  of  Kid  Horrigan  to  step  for- 
ward lightly,  to  rap  the  Tornado  smartly  on  the 
bridge  of  the  nose,  and  thereafter  to  step  back 
as  lightly  and  wait  until  the  few  wild  blows  had 
fanned  the  air  and  the  Tornado  had  returned  to 
his  meaningless  and  somewhat  bewildered  crouch. 

Thereupon,  in  almost  preoccupied  fashion,  the 
Kid  stepped  forward  once  more — and  when  he 
had  done  it  again  and  again  the  performance 
began  to  grow  monotonous  and,  down  in  Box  B 
at  the  ringside,  Johnson  Boiler  yawned  aloud. 


2  IN  AND  OUT 

The  yawn  finished,  he  leaned  over  wearily  and 
addressed  Anthony  Fry. 

"If  that  little  wheeze  had  the  pep  of  a  dead 
mosquito,"  said  Johnson  Boiler  disgustedly,  "he'd 
take  that  big  stiff  when  his  hands  are  up  like  that 
and  slip  him  an  uppercut  that  would  freeze  him 
solid!" 

Anthony  Fry's  intellectual  features  relaxed  in 
a  faint  smile. 

"He's  had  several  chances,  hasn't  he?"  he 
mused. 

"Several?  He's  had  fifty!  He  gets  three  a 
minute  and — well,  look  at  that!" 

"Yes,  he  missed  another  opportunity  then, 
didn't  he?"  said  Anthony.  "Curious!" 

Johnson  Boiler's  cigar  rolled  to  the  other  side 
of  his  mouth  and  he  hunched  down  farther  in 
his  chair. 

"And  nine  more  rounds  of  it  to  go !"  he  sighed. 

Anthony  Fry  merely  smiled  more  pensively  and 
nodded,  removing  his  nose-glasses  and  tapping  his 
teeth  reflectively — and,  among  other  things,  caus- 
ing the  red-faced,  partially  alcoholized  trio  behind 
them  in  Box  B  to  wonder  what  he  was  doing  at 
a  prize  fight  anyway. 


THE  GREAT  UNRECOGNIZED        3 

As  externals  go,  there  was  some  ground  for 
the  wonder.  Anthony  Fry  at  forty-five  was  very 
tall,  very  lean  in  his  aristocratic  way,  and  very, 
very  dignified,  from  the  crown  of  his  high-held 
head  to  the  tips  of  his  toes.  In  dress  he  was 
utterly  beyond  criticism;  in  feature  he  was  thin, 
austere,  and  impressive.  At  first  glance  one  might 
have  fancied  him  a  world-famous  surgeon  or  the 
inscrutable  head  of  the  Steel  Trust,  but  the  fact 
of  the  matter  was  that  Anthony,  these  fifteen  years 
gone,  had  inherited  Fry's  Imperial  Liniment,  with 
all  that  that  implied. 

It  implied  a  good  deal  in  the  way  of  income, 
yet  even  among  his  friends  Anthony  did  not  care 
to  have  the  liniment  phase  of  his  quietly  elegant 
existence  dwelt  upon  too  insistently.  Not  that  he 
regarded  the  business — run  by  a  perfect  manager 
and  rarely  visited — as  a  secret  shame  exactly,  but 
unquestionably  Anthony  would  have  preferred  that 
his  late  father  and  his  two  dead  uncles,  when 
starting  their  original  pursuit  of  wealth,  had  cor- 
raled  the  world's  diamond  supply  or  purchased 
Manhattan  Island  at  a  bargain. 

Just  now,  perhaps,  Anthony's  more  striking 
features  were  emphasized  by  the  nearness  of  John- 


4  IN  AND  OUT 

son  Boiler,  one  of  his  few  really  intimate 
friends. 

Johnson  Boiler's  age  was  just  about  the  same, 
but  there  the  similarity  between  them  stopped 
short. 

Johnson  Boiler  was  plump,  one  might  almost 
say  coarse.  Where  Anthony  walked  with  slow 
dignity,  Johnson  swaggered.  Where  Anthony 
spoke  in  a  measured  undertone  and  smiled  frigidly, 
Johnson  thumped  out  the  words  and  laughed  with 
a  bark.  About  most  things  except  food  he  was 
inclined  to  be  gloomy  and  pessimistic,  and  this 
evening  the  gloom  within  was  even  thicker  than 
usual,  because  Johnson  Boiler's  wife  had  left  him. 

She  was  a  new  wife  and  his  first — a  beautiful 
and  spirited  wife,  all  of  fifteen  years  younger  than 
Johnson  Boiler.  She  was  in  love  with  him  and 
he  with  her,  tremendously — and  now  she  was 
gone.  After  only  six  months  of  unalloyed  hap- 
piness in  the  five-thousand-dollar  apartment  on 
Riverside  Drive,  Mrs.  Johnson  Boiler  had  left 
for  her  annual  visit  of  one  month  to  the  sister 
whose  accursed  husband  owned  great  chunks  of 
Montreal,  Quebec,  and  insisted  on  living  on  one 
of  them. 


THE  GREAT  UNRECOGNIZED        $ 

One  vast  hour  Johnson  Boiler  had  roamed  the 
vacuum  that  had  been  their  ideal  home;  then  he 
had  packed  his  grip  and  gone  to  stay  with  Anthony 
Fry,  in  that  utter  ultimate  of  everything  impec- 
cable and  expensive  in  the  way  of  bachelor  apart- 
ments, the  Hotel  Lasande — and  even  the  sight  of 
the  fight  tickets,  when  Anthony's  invaluable  Wil- 
kins  had  returned  with  them,  had  failed  to  bring 
more  than  a  flitting  smile  to  Johnson  Boiler. 

Now  they  were  watching  the  second  preliminary 
bout,  and  could  he  but  have  traded  one  thousand 
of  these  bouts  for  a  single  hour  with  his  beloved 
Beatrice,  Johnson  Boiler  would  have  gladly. 

"In  the  main,"  said  Anthony  Fry,  "that  absurd 
little  chap  up  there  typifies  my  whole  conception 
of  opportunity." 

"Huh?"  Johnson  Boiler  said. 

"The  chance  for  that  fatal  uppercut  is  there — 
it  was  there  a  minute  ago  and  it  will  be  there  a 
minute  hence,  and  probably  two  minutes  hence. 
Our  Tornado  hasn't  seen  it  yet;  he  may  go  to  the 
end  of  the  ten  rounds  and  never  see  it,  and  yet, 
unless  this  Horrigan  chap  changes  his  tactics,  it 
will  be  repeated  again  and  again.  Would  he  see 
it  if  the  bout  ran  twenty  rounds?" 


5  IN  AND  OUT 

"How  the  dickens  should  I  know?"  Johnson 
Boiler  muttered. 

"I'd  be  quite  willing  to  wager,"  Anthony  smiled 
thoughtfully,  "that  he  would  see  it!" 

Johnson  Boiler  surveyed  his  friend  narrowly. 
It  was  obvious  that  Anthony's  attention  had 
strayed  from  the  alleged  battle — and  small  won- 
der !  It  was  equally  obvious  that  Anthony's  mind 
was  wandering  off  into  the  abstract;  and  not  in- 
frequently these  little  journeys — provided  they 
went  not  too  far — were  quite  entertaining. 

Johnson  Boiler,  therefore,  with  an  impulse  he 
was  to  regret  bitterly  in  the  very  near  future,  gave 
a  prod  to  discussion  by  smiling  in  his  own  unhappy 
way  and  saying: 

"What's  the  idea,  Anthony?  You're  wrong, 
but — what  is  it?" 

"My  idea,"  said  the  proprietor  of  Fry's  Im- 
perial Liniment  slowly,  "is  merely  this,  Johnson: 
that  the  whole  proposition  of  the  man  who  is  a 
dire  failure,  the  man  who  is  a  tremendous  success, 
is  vastly  exaggerated." 

"Meaning?" 

"That  failure  does  not  of  necessity  imply  in- 
capacity or  ineptitude — or  success  any  tremendous 


THE  GREAT  UNRECOGNIZED        7 

capability,  in  many  cases,  for  that  matter.  Taken 
by  and  large,  we  are  all  made  of  much  the  same 
stuff,  you  know.  The  trouble  lies  in  the  failure 
of  the  plain,  average,  reasonably  stupid  citizen  to 
recognize  opportunity's  one  solitary  knock!"  An- 
thony smiled,  growing  himself  more  interested  by 
the  second.  "Now,  if  opportunity  were  but  decent 
enough  to  knock  twice,  at  least  double  the  number 
of  striving  humans  would  recognize  her  nearness 
and  grasp  her.  If  she  could  bring  herself  to 
knock  three  times,  say,  our  successes  would  be 
tripled.  If " 

"And  if  she  knocked  a  thousand  times  in  suc- 
cession, everybody'd  be  a  millionaire,"  Johnson 
Boiler  suggested. 

"Something  like  that,"  smiled  Anthony.  "The 
chap  who  does  know  opportunity,  recognizes  her 
mainly  by  accident,  I  honestly  believe.  Now,  if 
we  could  but  take  each  man  and  place  opportunity 
before  him  and  hold  her  there  until  he  fully  under- 
stood that  she  was  present,  the  word  failure  would 
be  omitted  from  the  dictionaries  a  generation 
hence." 

Anthony  Fry  winked  rapidly,  which  in  itself 
was  rather  a  bad  sign  because  it  indicated  that 


8  IN  AND  OUT 

the  theorizing  portion  of  his  cultured  brain  was 
growing  quite  rapt.  At  another  time,  very  likely, 
Johnson  Boiler  would  have  heeded  the  warning 
and  turned  Anthony's  attention  gently  back  to  the 
fight;  but  to-night  Boiler  sought  refuge  from  the 
haunting  loneliness  that  Beatrice  had  left  behind. 

"I  don't  agree  with  you!"  he  said  flatly. 
-  "Eh?" 

"Nix!"  said  Johnson  Boiler.  "Any  guy  who 
can  come  face  to  face  with  a  regular  honest-to- 
goodness  opportunity,  Anthony,  and  not  know  her 
inside  of  one  second,  could  have  her  tied  to  his 
right  leg  for  two  hundred  years  and  never  know 
she  was  there." 

"You  really  believe  that?" 

"Oh,  I  know  it!"  said  Johnson  Boiler.  "I  have 
several  millions  of  years  of  human  experience  to 
prove  that  I'm  right." 

Anthony  leaned  closer,  causing  the  largest  of 
the  red-faced  trio  behind  to  growl  senselessly  as 
he  was  forced  to  shift  for  a  view  of  the  ring. 

"Let  us  assume,  Johnson,  the  individual  A," 
said  Anthony.  "A  wished  to  become  a  lawyer; 
he  had  his  chance  and  missed  it.  We  will  assume 
him  to  be  peculiarly  stupid;  we  will  say  that  he 


THE  GREAT  UNRECOGNIZED        9; 

had  opportunity  for  the  second  time — and  again 
failed  to  grasp  her.  Can  you  think  that,  deliber- 
ately led  up  to  his  third  opportunity  of  becoming 
a  lawyer,  A  will  turn  his  back  for  the  third  time?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Johnson  Boiler,  without 
thought  and  solely  because  Anthony's  precise 
driveling  interested  him  a  little  more  than  the 
affair  of  the  ring. 

"Pahl"  Mr.  Fry  said  angrily. 

Just  here  Mr.  Horrigan  slipped  while  making 
his  — nth  jab  at  the  Tornado's  nose — slipped  and 
fell  upon  the  Tornado's  fist  and  thereafter  reeled 
about  for  a  few  seconds.  Johnson  Boiler  emitted 
his  first  real  laugh  of  the  evening;  Anthony  Fry, 
who  had  not  seen  the  incident,  failed  even  to 
smile. 

"It  would  be  interesting,"  he  said  crisply,  "to 
select  a  subject,  Johnson,  and  try  the  experiment." 

"What  experiment?" 

"That  of  learning  just  how  many  times  oppor- 
tunity must  be  presented  to  the  average  individual 
to  secure  full  recognition  of  her  presence  and  her 
beauties." 

"Wouldn't  it?"  mused  Johnson  Boiler  absently. 

"I  mean,  to  reach  haphazard  into  the  six  mil- 


10 

lions  that  go  to  make  up  New  York,  to  pick  just 
one  individual  and  segregate  him,  and  then  show 
him — opportunity!  To  take  him  aside,  where 
there  is  nothing  else  to  distract  him,  and  thrust 
opportunity  in  his  very  face — the  opportunity, 
whatever  it  might  be,  that  he  has  always  desired. 
It  seems  to  me,  Johnson,  that  watching  that  ex- 
periment might  be  distinctly  worth  while  1" 

"Aha  I"  yawned  Johnson  Boiler. 

"So,  therefore,"  Anthony  said  placidly,  "we 
will  find  our  subject  and  make  the  experiment." 

This  time,  and  with  a  considerable  jar,  Johnson 
Boiler  awoke  to  the  fact  that  danger  was  at  his 
elbow ! 

He  sat  bolt  upright  and  stared  at  Anthony  Fry, 
and  in  the  queerest  way  his  flesh  crawled  for  a 
moment  and  his  hands  turned  cold,  for  he  knew 
that  expression  of  Anthony's  all  too  well.  Intent, 
wholly  absorbed,  that  expression  indicated  that, 
however  ridiculous  the  proposition  might  be,  its 
fangs  had  fastened  in  Anthony's  very  soul  I 

This  was  the  expression  which  recalled — oh,  so 
clearly — the  dread  time  when  Anthony  Fry  had 
become  obsessed  with  the  idea  that  crime  is  a 
matter  of  diet  and  external  impression,  when  he 


THE  GREAT  UNRECOGNIZED      n 

had  secured  the  two  yeggmen  and  established 
them  where  he  could  watch  and  feed  them ;  when, 
eventually,  he  had  been  forced  to  pay  for  their 
crowning  crime  or  go  to  jail  as  an  accom- 
plice! 

This  was  the  expression  that  brought  back  the 
period  in  which  Anthony  had  cherished  the  theory 
that  music's  true  germ  lay  in  the  negro  race, 
properly  guided  and  separated  from  all  outside 
influences  and — well,  this  was  the  expression,  fast 
enough,  and  Boiler's  throat  tightened.  He  had 
not  even  found  words  of  protest  when  Anthony 
pursued: 

"And  upon  my  soul!  See  how  the  thing  has 
been  prearranged  for  us  I" 

"What?" 

"Look  here,  Johnson,"  the  owner  of  Fry's  Lini- 
ment hurried  on,  quite  excitedly.  "Have  you 
noticed  how  packed  the  house  is  to-night?" 

"What?    Yes,  and " 

"Every  seat  in  the  place  is  sold — except  this  one 
seat  in  our  box!" 

"What  of  it?" 

"It's  fate !"  chuckled  Mr.  Fry.  "It  is  fate  and 
nothing  else,  Johnson.  Out  of  all  the  millions  in 


12  IN  AND  OUT 

New  York,  one  man — absolutely  unknown  to, 
unsuspected  by,  either  you  or  me — is  coming  to 
take  this  seat,  doubtless  for  the  star  bout." 

"But " 

"To  that  man,"  said  Anthony,  "I  shall  offer 
opportunity!" 

"What  d'ye  mean?  Money?"  Johnson  Boiler 
asked  incredulously. 

"It  will  involve  money,  doubtless;  I  can  afford 
a  little." 

"Well,  you  go  and  poke  a  handful  of  bills  into 
a  man's  face  and  all  you're  going  to  prove  is 
that " 

"I  have  no  idea  of  doing  anything  of  the  sort," 
Anthony  said  impatiently.  "What  I  purpose  doing 
is  simply  this:  I  shall " 

Johnson  Boiler  had  recovered  from  the  first 
shock.  He  drew  a  long,  deep  breath,  and,  leaning 
over  to  his  old  friend,  placed  a  firm,  strong  hand 
on  his  knee  and  looked  soothingly  into  his  kindled 
eye. 

"Listen,  Anthony!"  said  he.     "Don't!" 

"Eh?  You've  no  notion  of  what  I  mean  to 
do,"  Anthony  said  briefly. 

"No,  but  I  can  guess  enough  to  dope  it  out 


THE  GREAT  UNRECOGNIZED      13 

pretty  well,  and — don't  do  it!"  Johnson  Boiler 
said  earnestly.  "This  theory  stuff  is  all  right, 
Anthony;  I  like  to  sit  and  chatter  about  it  as 
much  as  you  do.  On  the  level,  I  do!  I  like  to 
talk  with  you  about  these  things,  and  wonder  what 
would  happen  if  this  was  thus  and  the  other  thing 
was  otherwise.  But  when  you  come  to  pulling 
it  on  a  perfect  stranger  at  a  prize  fight,  Anthony, 
try  to  remember  that  everybody  may  not  under- 
stand you  as  well  as  I  do." 

"My  dear  chap!"  Anthony  laughed. 

"Don't  laugh;  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about," 
Mr.  Boiler  went  on,  feverishly  almost.  "You 
wait  till  we  get  home,  Anthony,  and  we'll  talk 
over  all  this  about  opportunity  and  get  it  settled. 
For  the  matter  of  that,  I  can  see  now  that  you're 
dead  right!"  Johnson  Boiler  said,  and  there  was 
something  almost  pathetic  in  his  voice.  "You're 
dead  right,  Anthony!  All  you  have  to  do  is  to 
stick  opportunity  before  a  man  long  enough  and 
he's  bound  to  chuck  a  hammerlock  into  her  and 
slam  her  down  to  the  mat  for  keeps!  So  that's 
settled,  and  we  don't  have  to  do  any  experimenting 
with  human  subjects.  Or  if  you  do  have  to  have 
a  live  one  to  work  on,  wait  till  we  get  home  and 


14  IN  AND  OUT 

we'll  take  Wilkins,  Anthony!  That'd  be  better, 
anyway." 

He  paused,  eying  his  old  friend  with  deep 
anxiety.  Anthony  Fry,  having  thrown  back  his 
head,  laughed  heartily. 

"Johnson,"  said  he,  "the  whole  trouble  with 
that  poor  old  head  of  yours  is  that  it  is  absolutely 
without  the  power  of  visualization !  It  knows  the 
wool  business;  it  makes  thousands  and  thousands 
of  dollars  out  of  the  wool  business;  but  to  save 
its  very  life  it  cannot  reach  out  into  the  abstract !" 

"It  doesn't  want  to  reach  into  the  abstract!" 

"Well,  it  should,  because  it  will  grow  more 
and  more  stodgy  if  it  doesn't,"  Mr.  Fry  said  com- 
placently. "Good  gracious,  Johnson!  Coming 
to  life!  Just  consider  what  may  be  coming  to 
this  seat!" 

"I  don't  dare!"  Johnson  Boiler  said  honestly. 

"An  old  man,  perhaps — one  who  fancies  his 
opportunities  all  past  and  done  for.  What  more 
vitally  interesting  than  thrusting  opportunity  upon 
such  a  man,  Johnson?" 

"So  far  as  I'm  concerned,  anything  under  the 
sun  and " 

"Or  perhaps  a  middle-aged  failure,"  Anthony 


THE  GREAT  UNRECOGNIZED      15 

rambled  on.  "A  man  just  past  the  age  when  hope 
is  richest — a  man  who  has  seen  his  chances  come 
and  go.  I  don't  know,  Johnson,  but  I  rather  be- 
lieve that  I'm  hoping  for  a  middle-aged  man." 

"Yes,  one  that's  weak  enough  to  gag  before  he 
can  yell  for  the  police,"  Johnson  Boiler  grunted. 
"Now,  Anthony,  before  you " 

"Or  best  of  all,  perhaps,  an  average  young 
man,"  smiled  the  experimenter.  "That  would 
really  be  the  most  interesting  sort  of  subject,  John- 
son— just  a  plain  chap,  not  fully  matured,  not 
soured  by  disappointment  nor  rendered  too  sophis- 
ticated by  contact  with  the  world.  On  the  whole, 
I  really  hope  that  a  young  man  is  coming!" 

And  now,  for  a  time,  Johnson  Boiler  said 
nothing  at  all.  There  was  always  the  chance  that 
Anthony  might  work  it  out  of  his  system  in  talk — 
there  was  the  other  chance,  growing  rosier  and 
rosier  by  the  minute,  that  the  odd  chair  had  not 
been  sold  at  all. 

It  was  rather  queer,  when  one  considered  that 
seats  for  this  particular  star  bout  had  been  at  a 
premium  for  a  week,  but  it  was  nevertheless  the 
fact  that  the  preliminary  arguments  were  over 
and  the  announcer  spinning  his  megaphoned  tale 


.16  IN  AND  OUT 

for  the  big  battle,  and  the  seat  still  unoccupied. 
To  Johnson  Boiler  it  even  hinted  at  the  existence 
of  a  special  Providence  designed  to  watch  the  do- 
ings of  such  as  Anthony  Fry. 

The  minutes  were  wearing  along,  too.  The 
cheering  was  done  with  and  the  megaphone  had 
left  the  ring.  Seconds  and  trainers  were  climbing 
down  through  the  ropes,  and  the  principals  were 
listening  boredly  to  the  final  words  of  instruction. 
And  now  the  gong  had  struck  and  they  were  at 
it — and  still  the  odd  chair  in  Box  B  remained 
unoccupied. 

"Opportunity!"  mused  Anthony  Fry.  "The 
Great  Unrecognized  1" 

"Eh?" 

"The  Great  Unrecognized,"  Anthony  repeated 
complacently.  "Not  a  bad  term  for  her,  eh?" 

Johnson  Boiler  made  a  last  survey  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, permitted  himself  a  sigh  of  relief,  and 
grinned  broadly  at  his  old  friend. 

"Great  term,  Anthony!"  he  agreed  genially. 
"He  isn't  coming!" 

"He'll  be  here  yet,"  Anthony  smiled. 

"Not  now,"  Boiler  chuckled.  "No  man  gives 
up  ten  or  fifteen  dollars  for  one  of  these  seats  and 


THE  GREAT  UNRECOGNIZED      17 

then  stays  away  for  any  reason  save  death.  Your 
victim  was  hit  by  a  motor-truck  on  the  way  here — 
and  at  that  he  may  be  getting  off  easier  than  if 
you'd  caught  him  and  tried  some  psychological 
experiments  on  him." 

And  here  Mr.  Boiler  stretched  and  removed  his 
cigar,  so  that  his  grin  might  spread  from  ear 
to  ear. 

"It  only  goes  to  show  you,  Anthony,  that  there's 
some  power  watching  over  people  like  you  and 
governing  their  affairs,  that  is  past  our  under- 
standing. Now,  if  that  poor  unknown  devil  had 
ever  turned  up  and " 

He  stopped  short. 

In  Anthony  Fry's  eye  the  blue-white  fire  of 
enthusiasm  glinted  out  suddenly.  Half  rising, 
Mr.  Fry  gazed  down  the  vast  place,  and  then, 
with  a  smile,  sat  back  again  and  eyed  his  friend. 

"Something's  wrong  with  your  power,  John- 
son," said  he.  "Here  he  comes  nowl" 


CHAPTER  II 
THEORY'S  VICTIM 

JOHNSON  BOLLER  looked.    And,  looking, 
the  pleased  grin  which  had  so  lately  suf- 
fused his  features  faded  out  swiftly — be- 
cause the  unknown  really  seemed  to  be  with  them. 
Far  down  the  mob,  an  attendant  of  the  place 
was  indicating  their  general  direction  to  a  shortish 
man  in  a  long  stormcoat;  and  now  he  of  the  coat 
had  nodded  and  was  pushing  his  way  down  the 
narrow  aisle  toward  them,  staring  at  the  sea  of 
faces  as  he  moved  along  slowly  and  seeming  a 
little  uncertain  in  his  movements. 

"Anthony!"  Johnson  Boiler  said  suddenly. 
"Well?" 

"Don't  speak  to  this  guy!     I  don't  like  his 
looks!" 
"Bah!" 

"And  this  gang  behind  us  is  doing  everything 
but  watch  the  fight,"  Mr.  Boiler  whispered  on. 

18 


THEORY'S  VICTIM  19 

"If  you  try  anything  funny  on  this  fellow  that's 
coming,  he's  likely  to  put  up  a  yell  of  some  kind — 
and  once  a  fight  starts  in  this  box  these  three 
behind  are  coming  in." 

"Johnson,  don't  be  absurd,"  Anthony  smiled. 
"Get  over  in  the  odd  seat;  I  want  the  chap  next 
to  me  so  that  I  can  have  a  good  look  at  him." 

"Will  you  remember  that  I  said  you  were  going 
to  start  trouble?"  Johnson  inquired  hotly. 

"I'll  remember  anything  you  like,  only  get  over 
into  that  odd  seat,"  Mr.  Fry  muttered,  as  the 
stranger  came  closer.  "Ah,  he's  hardly  more  than 
a  boy." 

"Yes,  he's  a  young  thug!"  Johnson  Boiler  in- 
formed him  in  parting.  "He's  a  young  gang- 
leader,  Anthony — look  at  the  walk!  Look  at 
the  way  he  has  that  cap  pulled  down  over  one 
eye!  Look  at " 

Anthony  Fry,  obviously,  would  have  heard  him 
as  well  had  he  been  seated  on  the  steps  of  Colo- 
rado's State  capitol.  Intellectual  countenance 
alight,  the  mildly  eccentric  Anthony — really  the 
sanest  and  most  delightful  of  men  except  when 
these  abstract  notions  came  to  him — was  wholly 
absorbed  in  the  newcomer. 


20  IN  AND  OUT 

Rather  than  stare  directly  he  turned  toward  the 
ring  as  the  young  man  in  the  long  coat  crowded 
into  the  box  and  settled  down  with  a  little  puff, 
but  one  who  knew  him  as  well  as  Johnson  Boiler 
could  feel  Anthony's  eyes  looking  past  his  lean 
right  cheek  and  taking  in  every  detail  of  theory's 
prospective  victim. 

Not  that  he  was  a  particularly  savage-looking 
creature  on  closer  inspection,  however.  The  cheap 
cloth  cap  and  the  shabby  long  coat — heavy  enough 
for  a  typhoon  when  there  was  the  merest  sug- 
gestion of  drizzle  outdoors — gave  one  that  im- 
pression at  first,  but  second  examination  showed 
him  to  be  really  rather  mild. 

He  seemed  to  be  about  twenty.  His  clothing, 
from  the  overcoat  to  the  trousers  and  the  well- 
worn  shoes,  indicated  that  he  came  from  no  very 
elevated  plane  of  society.  His  features,  which 
seemed  decidedly  boyish  among  some  of  the  faces 
present,  were  decidedly  good.  His  hair  needed  cut- 
ting and  had  needed  it,  for  some  time,  and  he  was 
tremendously  interested  in  the  star  bout.  Elbows 
on  the  rail,  cap  pulled  down  to  shade  his  eyes, 
the  youngster's  whole  excited  soul  seemed  centered 
in  the  ring. 


THEORY'S  VICTIM  21 

So  at  a  rather  easy  guess  Mr.  Boiler  concluded 
that  he  was  a  mechanic  or  a  janitor's  assistant 
or  an  elevator  boy  or  something  like  that.  The 
buyer  of  his  seat,  finding  himself  unable  to  come 
at  the  last  moment,  had  given  the  kid  his  ticket 
and  he  was  having  the  time  of  his  life. 

Johnson  Boiler  hunched  down  again  with  a  sad 
little  grunt.  He  had  meant  to  enjoy  this  star 
bout;  only  a  week  ago,  in  fact,  before  the  Mont- 
real horror  loomed  up,  he  had  been  considering 
just  how  an  evening  might  be  snatched  from  the 
happy  home  life  without  disturbing  Beatrice — 
who,  ignorant  of  modern  pugilism,  disapproved 
prize-fighting  on  the  ground  of  brutality.  And 
now  it  was  ruined,  because  Johnson  Boiler's  next 
half  hour  would  have  to  go  to  the  devising  of 
means  by  which  Anthony  could  be  steered  from 
his  idiotic  experiment,  whatever  it  might  be  in 
concrete  form. 

Anthony  meant  to  offer  this  youngster  oppor- 
tunity— how  or  in  what  form  Anthony  himself 
doubtless  did  not  know  as  yet.  But  he  did  intend 
to  speak  to  him  and,  unless  Johnson  Boiler's  faculty 
for  guessing  was  much  in  error,  he  meant  to  lead 
the  youngster  hence,  perhaps  to  feed  him  in  a 


22  IN  AND  OUT 

restaurant  while  he  talked  him  full  of  abstract 
theory,  perhaps  even  to  take  him  home  to  the 
Lasande. 

But  whatever  he  intended,  it  wouldn't  do. 
Johnson  Boiler  really  needed  Anthony  this  night. 
He  needed  Anthony  to  listen  while  he  talked  about 
the  absent  Beatrice,  and  recalled  all  her  beauty, 
all  her  fire,  all  her  adorable  qualities;  he  needed 
Anthony  at  the  other  side  of  the  chessboard,  over 
which  game  Johnson  Boiler  could  grow  so  pro- 
froundly  sleepy  that  even  Beatrice  en  route  to 
Siam  would  hardly  have  disturbed  him.  And  he 
needed  no  third  person ! 

Toward  the  end  of  the  fifth  round,  however, 
Johnson  Boiler  grew  painfully  conscious  that  he 
had  as  yet  concocted  no  very  promising  scheme. 
Indeed,  the  lone  inspiration  so  far  included  whis- 
pering to  the  kid  that  the  gentleman  on  his  other 
side  was  mildly  insane  and  that  flight  were  best, 
should  the  gentleman  address  him;  but  Anthony 
persisted  in  leaning  so  close  to  the  youngster  that 
whispering  was  impossible. 

Also,  it  occurred  to  Johnson  Boiler  that  he  him- 
self might  be  taken  violently  ill — that  he  might 
clutch  his  heart  and  beg  Anthony  to  lead  him  to 


THEORY'S  VICTIM  23 

the  outer  air.  There  was  little  in  that,  though; 
the  chances  were  more  than  even  that  Anthony, 
if  his  enthusiasm  as  to  the  victim  still  persisted, 
would  request  the  youngster's  assistance  in  getting 
him  out. 

And  the  enthusiasm  seemed  enduring  enough. 
They  were  in  the  tenth  and  last  round  now  and 
Anthony,  with  his  strange  smile,  was  turning  to 
the  young  man  and — ah,  yes,  he  was  speaking: 

"Pardon  me!" 

The  boy  started  with  undue  violence  and  stared 
at  him,  drew  back  a  little  and  even  looked  An- 
thony up  and  down  as  he  said: 

"Speaking  to  me?" 

"I  am  speaking  to  you,  young  man,"  Anthony 
smiled  benignly.  "May  I  speak  to  you  a  little 
more?" 

This,  very  evidently,  was  a  sensitive  boy,  unac- 
customed to  chatting  with  really  elegant,  palpably 
prosperous  strangers.  The  startled  eyes  ran  over 
Anthony  again  and  a  frown  came  into  them. 

"What's  the  idea?"  he  asked  briefly. 

"There  is  a  very  large  idea,  which  I  should  like 
to  make  clear  to  you,"  Mr.  Fry  went  on  smoothly. 
"I  should  like  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  young 


24  IN  AND  OUT, 

man — not  here,  of  course,  but  when  the  fight  is 
over — and  it  will  be  to  your  considerable  advan- 
tage  " 

"I  don't  want  to  buy  anything,"  the  canny  young 
man  informed  him. 

"And  I  don't  want  to  sell  you  anything,"  An- 
thony laughed,  "but  I  do  wish  to  present  to  you 
a  proposition  which  will  be  of  much  interest." 

This  time,  possibly  not  without  warrant,  the 
boy  shrank  unmistakably  from  him,  hitching  his 
collar  a  little  higher  and  his  cap  a  little  farther 
down. 

"It  wouldn't  interest  me,"  he  said  with  some 
finality.  "I'm — just  a  poor  lad,  you  know,  and 
I  haven't  a  cent  to  invest  in  anything." 

"But  you  have  an  hour  to  invest,  perhaps?" 
Anthony  smiled. 

"Nope!" 

"Oh,  yes,  you  have,"  the  owner  of  Fry's  Im- 
perial Liniment  persisted.  "It  is  for  no  purpose 
of  my  own,  save  perhaps  to  justify  a  small  con- 
tention, but  I  wish  you  to  come  home  with  me  for 
a  little  while." 

•Whatf"  said  the  boy. 

As  Johnson  Boiler  observed,  sighing  heavily 


THEORY'S  VICTIM  25, 

and  shaking  his  head  as  he  observed  it,  the  young 
man  was  downright  scared  now.  An  older  citizen 
would  have  spoken  his  candid  thoughts  to  Anthony 
Fry,  doubtless,  and  chilled  him  back  to  reason; 
but  this  one  drew  away  from  Anthony  until  he 
bumped  into  Johnson  Boiler,  turned  hastily  and 
asked  the  latter's  pardon  and  then  gazed  at  An- 
thony with  eyes  which,  if  not  filled  with  terror, 
certainly  held  a  quantity  of  somewhat  amused  ap- 
prehension. 

He  shook  his  head  determinedly  and  seemed  to 
be  seeking  words,  and  as  he  sought  them  a  new 
element  entered  the  situation.  The  red-faced 
person  just  behind  Anthony  Fry,  having  gazed 
soddenly  from  the  youngster  to  the  maker  of 
theories,  lurched  forward  suddenly  and  spoke: 

"Let  that  kid  alone!" 

"Eh?"  Anthony  said  amazedly. 

Johnson  Boiler  leaned  forward  quickly. 

"Stop  right  there,  Anthony !"  he  hissed.  "Don't 
answer  him !" 

"Why  on  earth  shouldn't  I  answer  him?"  An- 
thony snapped. 

"You  keep  out  of  it,  young  feller!"  the  red- 
faced  one  told  Johnson  Boiler,  and  one  saw  that 


26  IN  AND  OUT 

his  honest  rage  was  rising  fast.  "He's  gotter  let 
that  kid  alone!" 

"Well,  confound  your  impudence,  sir!"  An- 
thony began.  "I " 

"None  o'  that  stuff!"  the  total  stranger  said 
hotly.  "You  cut  out  picking  on  the  kid  or  I'll 
step  on  your  face." 

And  here  his  redder-faced  companion  leaned 
forward  and  demanded  thickly: 

"Woddy  do  ter  kid,  Joe?  Huh?  Wozzer 
matter — huh?  Wozzer  trouble  'th  you — huh?" 

Johnson  Boiler  was  on  his  feet  and  in  the  aisle, 
perturbed  and  still  able  to  see  how  the  unexpected 
had  been  planned  for  his  especial  benefit. 

"This  is  where  we  get  off,  Anthony,"  he  said 
briefly,  "I  could  smell  it  coming.  Come  along." 

"Is  there  going  to  be  a  fight  here?"  the  boy 
in  the  chair  between  asked,  with  a  quantity  of 
eager  excitement. 

"If  I  know  the  signs,  ten  seconds  hence  this  spot 
is  going  to  look  like  a  detail  of  the  Battle  of  the 
Marne,"  said  Mr.  Boiler.  "And  you  wr.nt  to  get 
out  of  it  quick  or  you'll  be  hurt,  kid.  You  scoot 
right  down  that  way,  the  way  you  came,  and  get 
clear  of  the  crowd  before  it  starts." 


THEORY'S  VICTIM  27 

He  pointed.  He  waited.  But  the  boy  did  not 
start. 

Who,  in  the  calmer  afterward,  shall  explain 
just  how  these  gunpowder  situations  develop, 
grow  instantaneously  incandescent,  and  ex- 
plode? 

The  atmosphere  was  one  of  physical  battle; 
the  red-faced  gentlemen  were  filled  with  alcoholic 
spirits;  yet  who  shall  say  just  why  the  red-faced 
man,  his  friend  stumbling  against  him,  gained  the 
impression  that  Anthony  Fry  had  struck  him  a 
coward's  blow  from  behind?  Or  why,  with  a  roar 
of  incoherent  fury,  he  aimed  a  dreadful  punch 
at  Anthony  himself,  standing  there  quite  collected 
if  somewhat  paler? 

That  is  what  happened,  although  by  no  means 
all  that  happened.  The  unfortunate  spot  came 
three  seconds  later  when  Anthony,  side-stepping 
the  alcoholized  jab,  threw  up  his  hands  to  fend 
off  the  jabber's  whole  swaying  person — threw 
them,  all  unwittingly,  so  that  his  right  fist  settled 
squarely  on  a  red  nose,  drawing  therefrom  a  magic 
spurt  of  blood! 

After  that,  for  a  little,  nothing  was  very  clear. 
Three  sets  of  fists  began  to  hammer  in  Anthony's 


28  IN  AND  OUT 

general    direction;    three    throats    shouted — and 
three  hundred  took  up  the  shout. 

Men  came  tumbling  toward  Box  B  and  into  it. 
A  large  person  in  bright  blue  shirt-sleeves,  with  a 
derby  on  the  back  of  his  head,  received  the  third 
blow  intended  for  Anthony  and  returned  it  with 
interest,  just  as  that  startled  person  was  jammed 
against  the  rail. 

From  three  different  points,  high-held  night- 
sticks were  pushing  through  the  surging  crowd; 
and  Johnson  Boiler,  looking  quickly  at  the  storm 
center,  counted  no  less  than  eleven  separate 
couples  pounding  one  another,  and  smiled  as  he 
jerked  Anthony  bodily  over  the  rail  and  hissed: 

"Come  on,  you  poor  lunatic!     Come  on!" 

"Johnson,  upon  my  soul "  Anthony  began. 

"Never  mind  your  soul!  Get  your  body  out 
of  here  before  the  cops  find  it  and  club  it  to  death 
for  starting  this  rumpus!"  Mr.  Boiler  cried  agi- 
tatedly. "Look  at  that  sergeant,  Anthony!  He's 
got  his  eye  on  you  and  he's  fighting  his  way  over 
here!  Now,  you  scoot  down  there,  kid!  Move  I 
Quick,  before " 

"No!  Come  with  us,  boy!"  Anthony  said, 
somewhat  disconcertingly. 


THEORY'S  VICTIM  29 

"What  for?"  the  boy  inquired.  "I  want  to 
watch  this." 

"You  stay  and  watch  it  by  all  means !"  Johnson 
Boiler  smiled  quickly.  "You're  perfectly  safe, 
youngster;  I  was  only  fooling.  Now  you  come 
this  way,  Anthony,  and " 

Anthony,  unperturbed,  laid  a  kindly  hand  on 
the  youngster's  shoulder. 

"You'd  better  come  with  us,  my  son,"  said  he. 
"They'll  run  you  in  for  a  witness  and  you  may  be 
locked  up  for  a  week  unless  you  have  friends  to 
get  you  out." 

This  time  he  had  startled  the  young  man. 
Wide  eyes  turned  and  stared  at  him  and  there  was 
a  distinct  note  of  fright  in  the  voice  that  said: 

"What  do  you  mean?    Arrest  me?" 

"Of  course,  if  you  stay  here,"  Anthony  said. 
"Come  with  me  and  I'll  take  care  of  you." 

And  then  Johnson  Boiler  had  caught  his  arm 
and  was  dragging  him  away;  and  Anthony,  catch- 
ing the  willing  arm  of  the  boy,  was  dragging  him 
after.  Around  the  side  of  the  ring  they  sped, 
where  an  interested  group  of  fighters  and  trainers 
watched  the  melee;  and,  veering,  on  through  a 
small  side  door  and  into  the  night. 


30  IN  AND  OUT 

"Here's  where  the  taxis  wait,"  Mr.  Boiler  said 
quickly.  "Now,  you  beat  it  straight  down  the 
street,  kid,  and " 

"We'll  take  this  one,"  Anthony  interrupted,  as 
he  jerked  open  the  door  and  thrust  his  bewildered 
charge  inward.  "Tell  the  man  to  take  us  home, 
Johnson." 

Johnson  Boiler  complied  with  a  grunt,  slamming 
the  door  viciously  as  he  plumped  into  his  own 
seat.  The  kid,  prospective  victim  of  Anthony's 
latest  notion,  was  still  with  them — and  he  seemed 
contented  enough  to  be  there  for  the  present. 
The  possibility  of  arrest  had  jarred  the  young- 
ster more  than  a  little,  and  he  hunched  down  on 
the  little  forward  seat  and  breathed  quite  heavily. 
And  now  Anthony's  deep,  kindly  voice  was  ad- 
dressing him  with — 

"You'll  come  home  with  me  for  a  little  while, 
youngster?" 

Mr.  Boiler  drew  a  long,  resigned  breath  and 
prepared  to  back  the  boy  in  every  objection  his 
doubtless  normal  mind  should  offer — but  they 
chanced  to  pause  by  an  arc  lamp  just  then  and  he 
caught  the  boy's  expression. 

It  was  really  a  queer  thing  to  see.     No  fear 


THEORY'S  VICTIM  31 

was  there  at  all  now,  but  only  the  overwhelming, 
innocent  curiosity  of  youth,  mingled  with  an  in- 
scrutable something  else.  One  might  have  called 
it  a  daredevil  light,  breathing  the  young  craving 
for  adventure,  but  Johnson  Boiler,  with  an  un- 
accountable shudder,  felt  that  it  was  not  just  that. 

To  save  him,  he  could  not  have  named  the 
quality;  he  sensed  it  rather  than  actually  saw  it, 
but  it  was  there  just  the  same — an  ominous,  mock- 
ing, speculative  amusement  that  had  no  place  at 
all  in  the  eye  of  an  elevator  boy  when  looking 
at  the  wealthy,  dignified  Anthony  Fry.  The  boy's 
fine  teeth  showed  for  a  moment  as  he  asked : 

"Pardon  me,  but  what's  it  all  about?  Why 
under  the  sun  should  I  go  home  with  you?" 

"Because  I  want  to  talk  confidentially  to  you 
for  an  hour." 

"You're  not  judging  from  these  togs  that  I'm  a 
criminal,  are  you?"  the  boy  grinned,  and  it  seemed 
to  Johnson  Boiler  that  the  tone  was  far  too  culti- 
vated for  the  clothes. 

"What?" 

"I  mean,  you  don't  want  any  one  murdered, 
or  anything  of  that  kind?" 

Anthony  laughed  richly. 


32  IN  AND  OUT, 

"By  no  means,  my  dear  boy.  As  to  what  it  is 
all  about  I'll  tell  you  when  we  get  there.  You'll 
come?" 

"I  think  not,"  the  boy  said  frankly. 

"But " 

"Nix!  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  don't  like  the 
idea.  I  think  it's  a  little  bit  too  unusual.  Who 
are  you,  anyway?" 

"My  name  is  Fry,  if  that  tells  you  anything," 
smiled  its  owner. 

"Fry?"  the  boy  repeated. 

"Anthony  Fry." 

"Eh?"  the  youngster  said,  and  there  was  a 
peculiarly  sharp  note  in  his  voice. 

"He  makes  Fry's  Liniment,"  Johnson  Boiler 
put  in  disgustedly,  yet  happily  withal  because  it 
was  plain  that  the  boy  would  have  no  part  in 
spoiling  his  chess  game  and  the  little  chat  about 
Beatrice.  "He  has  a  lot  of  theories  not  con- 
nected with  the  liniment  business,  kid,  and  he 
wants  to  bore  you  to  death  with  some  of  them. 
They  wouldn't  interest  you  any  more  than  they 
interest  me,  and  you're  perfectly  right  in  refusing 
to  listen  to  them." 

"Umum,"  said  the  boy  oddly. 


THEORY'S  VICTIM  33 

"And  now  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  John- 
son Boiler  concluded  quite  happily.  "You  tell 
me  where  you  live,  and  when  the  man  drops 
us  I'll  pay  your  fare  home.  Some  class  to 
that,  eh?  Going  home  in  a  taxicab  after  sit- 
ting in  a  ten-dollar  seat  at  a  big  fight !  You  don't 
get  off  on  a  jamboree  like  that  very  often,  I'll 
bet!" 

"No,"  the  boy  said  thoughtfully. 

"So  here's  the  little  old  Hotel  Lasande  where 
Mr.  Fry  lives,"  Mr.  Boiler  finished  cheerfully, 
"and  where  shall  I  tell  the  man  to  set  you  down, 
kid?" 

He  had  settled  the  matter,  of  course.  Never 
in  this  world  could  the  little  ragamuffin  resist  the 
temptation  of  returning  to  his  tenement  home,  or 
whatever  it  was,  in  a  taxi.  Johnson  Boiler,  rising 
as  the  vehicle  stopped,  laid  a  kindly  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"Now,  you  sit  over  in  my  seat  and  stretch  your 
legs  while  you  ride,  kid — and  here !  Have  a  real 
cigar  and  feel  like  a  real  sport!  Don't  you  know 
how  to  bite  off  the  end?" 

"I — I  don't  want  to  bite  off  the  end  yet,"  the 
boy  muttered. 


34  IN  AND  OUT 

r 

"Sink  your  teeth  in  it.  Now  I'll  get  you  a 
match." 

He  felt  for  one,  did  Johnson  Boiler,  and  then 
ceased  feeling  for  one.  That  sudden  low  laugh 
of  the  young  man's  was  one  of  the  oddest  sounds 
he  had  ever  heard;  moreover,  as  the  Lasande 
doorman  opened  the  door  of  the  taxi,  he  caught 
the  same  odd  light  in  the  boy's  eye — and  now  he, 
too,  had  risen  and  pulled  the  disreputable  cap  a 
little  lower  as  he  said: 

"I  won't  smoke  it  now,  thanks.  I'm  going  up- 
stairs and  listen  to  Mr.  Fry  for  a  while,  I  think." 


CHAPTER  III 
OPPORTUNITY 

THE  Hotel  Lasande  deserves  a  word  or  two. 
In  the  strict  sense  it  is  no  hotel  at  all, 
being  merely  a  twenty-story  pile  of  four 
and  five — and  even  seven  and  eight — room  bache- 
lor suites  of  the  very  highest  class.  Moving  into 
the  Lasande  and  assuming  one  of  its  breath- 
stopping  leases  is  a  process  not  unlike  breaking 
into  the  most  exclusive  sort  of  club.  One  is  in- 
vestigated, which  tells  it  all.  The  Lasande,  cater- 
ing to  the  very  best  and  most  opulent  of  the 
bachelor  class,  has  nothing  else  beneath  its  roof. 
Silent  men  servants,  functioning  perfectly  de- 
spite their  apparent  woodenness,  flit  everywhere, 
invisible  until  needed,  disappearing  instantly  when 
the  task  of  the  moment  is  done.  There  are  din- 
ing-rooms for  the  few  who  do  not  dine  in  the 
privacy  of  their  own  apartments,  and  there  is  a 

35 


36  IN  AND  OUT 

long,  comfortable  lobby  where,  under  the  eagle 
eye  of  the  clerk  in  the  corner,  only  tenants  or 
guests  of  tenants  may  lounge. 

Into  this  latter  area  came  Anthony  Fry  and 
Johnson  Boiler  and  the  boy,  and  as  the  peculiarly 
intelligent  eyes  of  the  latter  darted  about  it  seemed 
to  Mr.  Boiler  that  their  twinkle  turned  to  a 
positive  glitter. 

It  was  absurd  enough,  it  hailed  doubtless  from 
the  nervous  loneliness  within  himself,  yet  Johnson 
Boiler  felt  that  the  youngster  was  a  downright 
evil  force,  swaggering  along  there,  tremendously 
conscious  of  his  own  importance !  He  should  have 
been  sedate  and  subdued,  to  put  it  mildly,  yet  he 
grinned  at  the  impeccable  night  clerk  from  under 
his  cap  and  sent  his  impudent  eyes  roving  on,  to 
alight  finally  on  the  big  chair  near  the  north  ele- 
vator. 

"Who's  the  party  with  the  big  specs  and  why 
the  prolonged  stare?"  the  youngster  asked  irrev- 
erently. 

"Eh?  Oh,  that's  Mr.  Hitchin,  a  neighbor  of 
mine,"  Anthony  smiled. 

"He's  an  amateur  detective,  kid,"  Johnson 
Boiler  added  significantly.  "He  knows  every 


OPPORTUNITY  37 

young  crook  in  town.  He's  coming  here  to  give 
you  the  once  over." 

"I  should  worry,"  murmured  the  self-possessed 
young  man. 

"Johnson,  don't  be  idiotic,"  Anthony  said,  as 
he  laid  a  hand  on  the  boy's  arm.  "I'll  have 
to  introduce  you.  What's  your  name,  my 
lad?" 

"Eh?"  asked  the  unusual  boy,  staring  hard  at 
Anthony. 

"Your  name!     What  is  it?" 

"Well — er — Prentiss,"  the  youth  admitted. 

"Is  that  your  first  name  or  your  last  name?'* 

"That's  just  my  last  name,"  the  boy  smiled. 
"First  name's  David." 

"David  Prentiss,  eh?"  Anthony  murmured  with 
some  satisfaction,  for  it  had  a  substantial  sound. 
"Well,  David — er,  Hitchin,  how  are  you?  Mr. 
Hitchin,  my  young  friend,  Mr.  David  Pren- 
tiss." 

The  boy's  hand  went  out  and  gripped  Hitchin's 
heartily  enough.  Mr.  Hitchin  held  it  for  a  mo- 
ment and  peered  at  David — and  one  saw  what  a 
really  penetrating  stare  he  owned. 

It  bored,  as  a  point  of  tempered  ice,  wordlessly 


38  IN  AND  OUT 

accusing  one  of  murder,  counterfeiting,  bank  bur- 
glary and  plain  second-story  work.  Frequently 
deep  students  of  the  higher  detective  fiction  grow 
this  stare,  and  Hobart  Hitchin  was  one  of  the 
deepest.  But  now,  having  pierced  David  in  a 
dozen  places  without  finding  bomb  or  knife,  the 
stare  turned  to  Anthony  and  grew  quite  normal 
and  amiable. 

"Prentiss,  eh?"  said  Hitchin.  "Not  the  Ver- 
mont branch?" 

"New  York,"  David  supplied. 

"Mr.  Prentiss  is  staying  with  me  for  a  little," 
Anthony  smiled  as  they  moved  toward  the  elevator 
again. 

"Staying  with  you,  eh?"  Hitchin  repeated,  with 
a  careful  survey  of  David's  well-worn  storm- 
coat;  and  added,  with  characteristic  bluntness: 
"Working  for  you,  Fry?" 

"My  guest,"  Anthony  said  annoyedly;  and  then 
the  car  came  down  and  the  door  opened  and  they 
left  Mr.  Hitchin,  but  the  boy  cocked  an  eye  at 
Anthony  and  asked  flatly: 

"What  was  the  idea  of  that — staying  with  you? 
I'm  not  staying  with  you." 

"You  may  decide  to  stay  for  a  little." 


OPPORTUNITY  39 

"Not  me,"  said  David. 

"We  shall  see,"  Anthony  chuckled.  "This  is 
our  floor." 

Wilkins — the  priceless,  faultless  Wilkins  who 
had  been  with  Anthony  for  sixteen  years — opened 
the  door  and,  even  though  he  were  Wilkins, 
started  a  trifle  at  the  sight  of  David  and  his  cap. 
He  flushed  for  the  start,  to  be  sure,  as  his  master 
moved  into  the  big  living-room  with  his  superb 
dignity,  but  when  he  had  taken  cap  and  coat  and 
examined  the  suit  beneath,  Wilkins  shook  his  head 
mentally.  One  shock  had  come  that  evening  in 
the  knowledge  that  Johnson  Boiler,  whom  Wilkins 
did  not  approve,  was  to  be  with  them — but  this 
young  ruffian! 

"Make  yourself  at  home,  David,"  Anthony 
smiled.  "We'll  shed  our  coats  and  find  our  smok- 
ing jackets." 

Johnson  Boiler  with  him,  he  moved  to  the 
corner  bedroom,  to  face  his  old  friend  with: 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"He's  a  bad  egg,"  Johnson  Boiler  said  readily. 
"I  don't  like  his  eye  and  the  way  he  swaggers 
would  get  him  six  months  in  any  court  in  town. 
Say  whatever  it  is  the  devilish  impulse  prompts 


40  IN  AND  OUT 

you  to  say  and  then  fire  him  before  he  pinches  the 
silver." 

"Bosh!"  Anthony  said  testily.  "The  boy's 
awed  and  self-conscious — the  swagger  is  assumed 
to  cover  that,  of  course.  I  mean  what,  in  your 
decidedly  inferior  judgment,  is  his  fitness  as  a 
subject  for  experiment?  Will  he  know  oppor- 
tunity when  she  is  first  set  before  him  or  will  it 
be  necessary  to  present  her  repeatedly?" 

Johnson  Boiler  laughed  harshly  and  stared  hard 
at  his  old  friend.  Under  certain  conditions,  even 
the  empty  apartment  on  Riverside  Drive  might 
not  be  so  bad. 

"Say!"  he  demanded.  "Are  you  going  to  keep 
that  little  rat  here  and  argue  with  him  till  he  ad- 
mits that  he  recognizes  whatever  opportunity 
you're  going  to  thrust  at  him?" 

"Essentially  that." 

"Well,  if  it's  an  opportunity  to  earn  an  honest 
living,  he'll  never  see  it — and  if  the  chatter  takes 
more  than  an  hour  I'm  going  home!"  Johnson 
Boiler  snapped.  "I'd  have  stayed  there  if  I'd 
known  you  were  going  off  into  the  abstract,  An- 
thony. I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  and  have  a  little 
game  of  chess  and  a  bottle  of  ale  and " 


OPPORTUNITY  41 

Anthony  smiled  serenely. 

"And  the  mere  fact  that  a  train  of  thought, 
only  slightly  unusual,  has  entered  your  evening, 
has  upset  your  whole  being,  hasn't  it?  Well,  it'll 
do  you  good  to  hear  and  watch  something  differ- 
ent. This  boy  will  see  opportunity  before  I'm 
done  with  him,  Johnson,  and  the  longer  it  takes 
the  sounder  my  general  hypothesis  will  have  been 
proven." 

.  Curiously  enough,  David  had  lost  much  of  his 
grinning  assurance  when  they  rejoined  him.  The 
impudence  had  left  his  eye  and  the  boy  seemed 
downright  uneasy.  He  started  and  rose  at  the 
sight  of  them,  and  his  quick,  nervous  smile  lingered 
only  a  moment  as  he  said: 

"I  think  I'd  better  be  going  after  all,  Mr.  Fry. 
It's  pretty  late  and " 

"Just  a  minute  or  two,  and  perhaps  you'll 
change  your  mind,"  Anthony  said  quietly,  as  he 
dropped  into  his  pet  chair.  "You'll  permit  a 
personal  question  or  two,  David?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"Then — how  old  are  you? 

"Twenty." 

"Ah!    Parents  living?" 


42  IN  AND  OUT 

David  nodded. 

"And  in  rather  humble  circumstances,  per- 
haps?" 

This  time  David  glanced  at  him  keenly,  queerly, 
for  an  instant — opened  his  lips  and  shut  them 
again  and  ended  with  a  mere  jerk  of  a  nod. 

"How  about  schooling,  David?  You've  been 
through  high  school?" 

"Er— yes." 

"And  have  you  a  profession?"  Anthony  pur- 
sued. 

"No,  I  haven't  any  profession?"  the  boy  mut- 
tered. 

"But  you're  working,  of  course?"  Mr.  Fry 
asked  sharply. 

"What?    Oh,  yes,"  said  David. 

"At  some  mechanical  line?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  David  said. 

"In  just  what  line,  then?" 

And  now,  had  Anthony  but  been  watching,  some 
of  Johnson  Boiler's  suspicions  must  have  seemed 
justified.  There  was  no  question  about  the  way 
David's  very  intelligent  eyes  were  acting  now; 
they  darted  furtively,  wildly  almost,  from  side  to 
side,  as  if  the  boy  were  seeking  escape.  They 


OPPORTUNITY  43 

darted  toward  Anthony  and  away  from  him  and 
back  to  David's  shabby  suit  and  worn  shoes. 

"I'm  a — plumber's  helper !"  the  boy  said  gustily. 

"Wait  a  second,  kid !"  Mr.  Boiler  put  in.  "Let 
me  see  those  hands!" 

"Well,  they — they  haven't  had  time  to  get 
roughened  up  yet!"  David  said  quickly.  "I  just 
went  to  work  yesterday." 

"The  boy's  lying,  Anthony!"  Mr.  Boiler  said 
bluntly. 

"I  don't  lie,  Mr. " 

"Boiler,"  Anthony  supplied.  "And  please  don't 
badger  the  boy,  Johnson." 

"I'm  not  badgering  him,"  said  Johnson  Boiler; 
"only  that  kid's  hands  look  more  like  a  society 
queen's  than  an  honest  workingman's." 

"They  may  be  hands  designed  for  better  things. 
David!  Tell  me,  are  you  quite  satisfied  to  be  a 
plumber's  helper,  or  was  it  the  only  thing  you 
could  find  in  the  way  of  employment?" 

"It  was  all  I  could  find,"  David  muttered, 
glancing  at  the  door.  And  then,  with  his  quick 
smile,  he  rose  again.  "I'd  like  to  sit  here  and 
answer  questions,  Mr.  Fry,  but  I'll  have  to  run 
along  and " 


44  IN  AND  OUT 

Anthony  beamed  at  him  over  his  glasses,  fidget- 
ing there  with  the  impatience  of  youth,  standing 
on  one  foot  and  then  on  the  other.  Anthony 
turned  and  beamed  at  the  bookcase  beside  him, 
and  selecting  a  volume,  beamed  at  that,  too. 

"David,"  said  he,  "will  you  be  seated  long 
enough  to  hear  a  little  poem?" 

"What?" 

"It  is  a  very  short  poem,  and  one  of  my  favor- 
ites," Anthony  musecj,  and  his  stare  at  David 
grew  quite  hypnotic.  "Ah,  here  it  is — a  little, 
wonderfully  big  poem  by  the  late  Senator  John 
Ingalls.  It  is  called — 'Opportunity.'  ' 

"Aha!"  David  said  rather  stupidly. 

"And  now,  listen,"  said  Anthony,  clearing  his 
throat. 

"Master   of   human    destinies    am   I!" 

He  paused  and  sent  the  hypnotic  smile  drilling 
into  David. 

"  'Master  of  human  destinies/'  "  he  repeated. 
"That,  in  itself,  means  a  very  great  deal,  does  it 
not?" 

"I  guess  so,"   David  muttered  dazedly,   and, 


OPPORTUNITY  45 

however  briefly,  Johnson  Boiler  almost  liked  him 
for  the  look  he  directed  at  Anthony's  bowed  head. 

"Fame,    love,    and   fortune   on   my   footsteps   wait, 
Cities  and  fields  I   walk;    I  penetrate 

Deserts  and  seas  remote,  and  passing  by 
Hovel  and  mart  and  palace,  soon  or  late 
I  knock  unbidden  once  at  every  gate ! 

"Once,"  concluded  Anthony,  "at  every  gate. 
Once,  David!" 

"Yes,  I've  heard  that  poem  before,"  said  David, 
who  was  examining  the  rug. 

Johnson  Boiler  laughed  in  a  rich  undertone. 
Anthony  flushed,  and  his  voice  rose  a  little  as  he 
continued : 

"If    feasting,    rise;    if    sleeping,    wake    before 
I  turn   away.     It   is   the   hour   of   fate 
And    they    who    follow    me    reach    every    state 

Mortals  desire,  and  conquer  every  foe 
Save   death    .     .    ." 

The  owner  of  Fry's  Imperial  Liniment  looked 
over  his  glasses  and  discovered  that  David,  having 
poked  open  the  door  of  the  little-used  cellarette 
with  his  foot,  was  looking  in  at  the  bottles  with 
mild  interest. 


46  IN  AND  OUT 

''Every  foe  save  death!'"  Anthony  rapped 
out.  "Did  you  hear  that,  David?" 

"Yes,  of  course,"  David  said  hastily.  "Do  you 
know  what  time  it  is,  Mr.  Fry?" 

"No !    Hear  the  rest !"  said  Anthony. 

".    .     .    But  those  who   doubt  or  hesitate, 
Condemned  to  failure,  penury,   or  woe, 
Seek  me   in   vain   and  ceaselessly   implore; 
I  answer  not  and  I  return — no  more!" 

Almost  reverently  the  book  closed. 

"Have  you  quite  assimilated  the  full  meaning 
of  that  little  poem,  David?"  he  asked  gravely. 

"Er— yes." 

"Quite?"  Anthony  persisted. 

"Why,  I  guess  so,"  David  said,  eyes  opening 
again.  "Yes,  I  know  I  have — only  don't  look 
at  me  like  that  and " 

"Then  hear  the  rest  of  what  I  have  to  say," 
Anthony  went  on  quickly  and  impressively,  "for 
now  we  come  to  my  reason  for  bringing  you  here. 
David,  you  are  poor.  You  are  without  a  pro- 
fession— without  a  business  of  your  own.  Your 
brightest  hope  at  present  is  to  become  a  plumber." 

"Say "  David  began, 


OPPORTUNITY  47 

"I  should  have  said,  your  brightest  chance," 
Anthony  corrected.  "But  your  ambition,  David, 
is  altogether  different.  Your  ambition  is  to  be- 
come —  what?' 

And  now,  before  the  penetrating,  hypnotic  eye, 
David  seemed,  not  without  warrant,  to  have  grown 
downright  frightened.  He  glanced  swiftly  at  An- 
thony and  at  the  door. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  breathlessly.  "What's 
the  answer?" 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  to  become?  A 
doctor?  A  lawyer?  A  teacher?  An  electrician? 
A  journalist?  A  clergyman?  A  painter?  An 
architect?  A  mining  engineer?  A  civil  engineer? 


It  was  plain  to  Johnson  Boiler  that  the  situa- 
tion was  getting  beyond  David's  doubtless  nimble, 
doubtless  criminal,  mind.  The  boy  held  up  an 
unsteady  hand  and  stayed  the  flow. 

"That's  it!"  he  said  hoarsely.  "A  civil  en- 
gineer! You  got  it  out  of  me,  didn't  you?  And 
now  I'd  better  go  and  -  " 

His  quick,  scared  grin  showed  all  his  teeth,  and 
he  nodded  in  the  most  ridiculous  fashion  —  really 
much  in  the  fashion  one  might  nod  at  a  hopeless 


48  IN  AND  OUT 

lunatic  when  agreeing  that,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
he  is  the  original  Pharaoh.  His  mental  state 
fairly  glowed  from  him;  all  that  David  wanted 
was  to  leave  the  Hotel  Lasande. 

David,  in  short,  was  doing  just  what  ninety- 
nine  per  cent,  of  the  human  race  insists  on  doing; 
even  at  the  hint  of  opportunity,  he  was  trying  to 
face  about  and  escape.  But  more  than  that, 
David,  obviously  one  of  the  lower  classes,  was 
treating  Anthony  Fry  with  a  tolerance  that  was 
more  than  mere  disrespect.  He  was  causing  John- 
son Boiler  to  chuckle  wearily  over  his  cigar — and 
in  spite  of  his  purely  abstract  interest,  Anthony's 
color  grew  darker  and  his  voice  decidedly  sharper. 

"Sit  still,"  he  commanded,  "and  listen  to  me. 
David,  up  to  this  evening  you  had  no  real  hope 
of  attaining  your  ambition.  In  fine,  opportunity 
to  make  the  goal  was  not  yours.  Now  opportunity 
is  yours!" 

"Is  it?"  David  said  throatily,  albeit  he  did  not 
resume  his  seat. 

"Because  this  is  what  I  mean  to  do  for  you, 
David;  I  mean  to  take  you  out  of  your  present 
humble  situation  and  educate  you.  I  mean  to 
have  you  here  to  live  with  me." 


OPPORTUNITY  49 

"What?"  David  gasped. 

"From  this  very  evening!"  Anthony  said  firmly, 
and  also  astonishingly.  "I  shall  outfit  you  properly 
and  supply  you  with  what  money  you  need.  I 
shall  have  you  prepared  for  the  best  engineering 
college  we  can  find,  and  entered  there  for  the 
most  complete  engineering  course.  If  you  are 
helping  in  the  support  of  your  family,  I  shall  pay 
to  them  a  sum  equivalent  to  your  wages  each 
month — or  perhaps  a  little  more,  if  it  be  essential 
to  removing  all  anxiety  from  your  mind.  You 
follow  me?" 

David  merely  clutched  the  edge  of  his  coat  and 
gulped,  staring  fascinatedly  at  Anthony. 

"I  am  reasonably  wealthy,  and  I  shall  bear 
every  expense  that  you  may  incur,  David.  When 
you  have  graduated,  and  everything  that  can  be 
taught  you  has  been  taught  you,  I  shall  establish 
you  in  proper  offices  and  use  my  considerable 
personal  influence  to  see  that  you  are  supplied 
with  work,  and  again  until  you  are  self-supporting 
I  shall  bear  all  the  expense.  In  short,  David," 
Anthony  concluded,  "I  am  holding  opportunity 
before  you — opportunity  to  do,  without  trouble  or 
worry  or  delay,  the  thing  you  most  desire.  Well?" 


50  IN  AND  OUT 

Even  Johnson  Boiler  was  mildly  interested, 
although  only  mildly,  and  with  a  deprecatory 
smile  on  his  lips.  He  knew  exactly  what  the  boy 
would  do,  of  course,  but  it  had  no  connection  with 
Anthony's  crack-brained  notion. 

David  would  grab  with  both  hands  at  this  kind 
of  opportunity  and  settle  down  to  a  life  of  ease, 
and  the  chances  were  that  he'd  get  Anthony  to 
sign  something  that  would  cost  him  thousands 
when  he  had  waked  up  and  lost  interest  in  the 
opportunity  proposition. 

To  Johnson's  sleepy  and  suspicious  eye  David 
looked  like  a  crafty  little  devil,  if  one  ever 
walked. 

Yet  after  a  silent  thirty  seconds  opportunity,  in 
her  gaudiest  and  most  conspicuous  form,  had  made 
no  visible  impression  on  David  Prentiss.  His  be- 
wildered eyes  roved  from  Anthony  to  Johnson 
Boiler.  Once  he  seemed  about  to  laugh;  again 
he  seemed  about  to  speak;  he  did  neither. 

And  the  clock  struck  twelve. 

And  had  a  bomb  exploded  between  his  poorly 
shod  feet,  the  effect  on  David  Prentiss  could 
hardly  have  been  more  striking.  He  started,  and 
his  eyes,  dilating,  lost  their  bewilderment  and 


OPPORTUNITY  51 

showed  plain,  overwhelming  horror.  His  mouth 
opened  with  a  shout  of: 

"Was  that  midnight?" 

"Very  likely,"  Anthony  said  impatiently.  "But 
as  to " 

"Where's  my  cap  and  coat?"  David  demanded. 

"Never  mind  your  cap  and  coat.     I " 

"But  I  do  mind  'em!"  David  cried.  "I've  got 
to  have  them — quick !  Where  are  they?  Where's 
the  man  who  took  them?" 

Anthony  merely  smiled  with  waxing  curiosity. 

"So  you  are  really  rejecting  opportunity  at  the 
first  knock,  eh?"  he  mused. 

And  now  David  stilled  his  rising  excitement 
only  with  a  huge  effort.  He  gripped  his  chair  and 
looked  Anthony  in  the  eye. 

"Opportunity  be — hanged!"  he  cried  shrilly. 
"Give  me  my  cap  and  coat!  I  want  to  go  home  1" 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  RELUCTANT  ONE 

ONE  knew  Anthony  Fry  for  two  or  three 
decades  before  quite  understanding  him. 
David's  great   disadvantage,   of  course, 
was  that  he  had  met  Anthony  only  an  hour  or  so 
before.     To  David,  doubtless,  the  quiet,  mysteri- 
ous,   speculative    smile    seemed    sinister,    for    he 
repeated  thickly: 

"I  want  my — my  cap  and  my  coat  and " 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  if  you  don't 
get  them?"  Anthony  laughed. 

"What  did  you  say?"  David  asked  quickly. 
"What  if  you  don't  get  your  coat?" 
"Does  that  mean  that  you're  going  to  keep  me 
here,  whether  I  want  to  stay  or  not?"  the  boy 
asked  quickly. 

"Not  just  that,  perhaps,  but  it  does  mean  that 
52 


THE  RELUCTANT  ONE  53 

I'm  going  to  keep  you  here  for  a  little  while, 
David,  until  you've  come  to  your  senses  and " 

"I'll  yell  I"  David  stated. 

"Eh?" 

"If  you  try  to  keep  me  here  I'll  yell  until  every- 
body in  the  house  comes  in  to  see  what's  hap- 
pening!" 

Anthony  laughed  quietly. 

"Don't  be  ridiculous,  David,"  he  said.  "I've 
lived  here  for  years,  and  they  will  know  perfectly 
well  that  I'm  not  injuring  you  in  any  way." 

"Oh!"  gasped  David. 

"So  just  sit  down  again  and  consider  what  I 
have  offered  you.  Sit  still  for  just  one  minute 
and  consider — and  then  give  me  your  answer." 

Finger-tips  drumming,  benevolent  gaze  beaming 
over  his  glasses,  the  unusual  Anthony  waited. 
David's  scared  eyes  roved  the  room,  wandered 
over  Johnson  Boiler,  reading  his  paper,  and 
finally  settled  so  steadily  on  that  gentleman  that 
he  looked  up  and,  looking,  read  David's  mind  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Your  own  fault,  kid,"  said  he.  "I  wanted  to 
give  you  a  free  ride,  but  you  had  to  come  up  and 
hear  what  he  had  to  say." 


54  IN  AND  OUT 

"Johnson!"  Anthony  said  sharply.  "Just  let 
the  youngster's  mental  processes  work  the  thing 
out  in  their  own  way." 

Half  a  minute  dragged  along — -yet  before  it 
was  gone  one  saw  clearly  that  the  mental  processes 
had  taken  their  grip.  An  extremely  visible  change 
was  coming  over  David  Prentlss.  He  gulped 
down  certain  emotions  of  his  own,  and  presently 
managed  to  smile,  uneasily  at  first  and  then  with 
a  certain  confidence.  He  cleared  his  throat  and, 
with  a  slight  huskiness,  addressed  Anthony: 

"Er — do  I  understand  that  you  want  me  to 
stay  here  until  I  fully  appreciate  all  you've  offered 
me,  Mr.  Fry?" 

"Virtually  that." 

"Well,  I  appreciated  that  all  along;  but — but 
I  was  sort  of  worried  about  it  getting  so  late,  you 
know,"  David  said  brightly.  "I  certainly  do  ap- 
preciate it,  and  I  thank  you  very  much.  Now  can 
I  have  my  coat?" 

"Really  decided  to  grip  the  opportunity,  eh?" 
Anthony  asked  keenly. 

"You  bet!" 

Johnson  Boiler  laid  aside  his  paper. 

"Now  chase  him,  Anthony!"  he  said.     "He's 


iTHE  RELUCTANT  ONE  55; 

standing  up  and  holding  the  sugar  on  his  nose. 
Slip  the  kid  a  five-dollar  bill  and  let  Wilkins " 

"Do  you  really  imagine  that  I'd  rouse  all  the 
boy's  hopes  and  then  play  him  a  shabby  trick  like 
that?"  Anthony  asked  sharply. 

"Huh?" 

"Most  emphatically  not!"  Mr.  Fry  said.  "I'll 
play  no  such  shabby  trick  on  the  youngster.  He 
shall  have  exactly  the  chance  I  promised,  and  I 
shall  watch  the  working  out  of  the  idea  with  the 
most  intense  interest.  David,  I'm  going  to  keep 
you  here  from  this  minute!" 

"Keep  me  here?"  David  echoed  blankly. 

"Certainly." 

David  gazed  fixedly  at  the  electrolier. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Fry,"  he  said.  "I'd 
like  to  stay  to-night,  but  I  can't — not  to-night. 
You  see,  I  have  to  go  home  to  my  father.  He's 
an — an  invalid." 

"We'll  telephone  the  good  news  to  him,"  An- 
thony smiled. 

"You  can't,"  said  David.  "We're  too  poor  to 
have  a  telephone." 

"Very  well.     Then  we'll  wire  him." 

David  shook  his  head  energetically. 


56  IN  AND  OUT 

"That  wouldn't  do,  either,"  said  he.  "Father's 
sick,  you  know.  His  heart's  very  weak.  Just  the 
sight  of  a  telegram  might  kill  him." 

"Unfortunate!"  Anthony  sighed  and  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  "Very  well,  David.  Then  you 
shall  write  him  a  note,  and  I'll  have  Wilkins  take 
it  to  him." 

David  swallowed  audibly  and  smiled  a  wild 
little  smile. 

"Oh,  no !  Not  that,  sir !"  said  he.  "That  might 
be  even  worse  than  a  telegram,  I  think." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  father  would  be  likely  to  think  that  I'd 
been — been  injured  and  taken  into  some  swell 
home,  you  know,  and  that  I  was  writing  like  that 
just  to  reassure  him.  No,"  David  said  firmly, 
"that  would  be  the  worst  possible  thing.  I'll  have 
to  go  myself  and  talk  it  over  with  father  and — 
now  if  I  can  have  my  cap  and  my  coat?" 

It  came  as  a  familiar  refrain.  It  caused  An- 
thony's eye  to  darken  suddenly  as  he  sat  back  and 
stared  at  the  boy. 

"Confound  your  hat  and  coat!"  he  rapped  out. 
"See  here,  David.  You  write  the  note,  and  I 
myself  will  take  it  to  your  father  and  explain — < 


THE  RELUCTANT  ONE  57 

and  be  sure  that  he  will  rejoice.  There  is  the 
desk.  Where  do  you  live?" 

His  tone  was  not  nearly  so  benevolent.  Oppo- 
sition, as  always,  was  rousing  Anthony's  unfor- 
tunate stubbornness;  with  or  without  reason,  had 
David  but  known  it,  every  mention  of  that  cap 
and  coat  was  diminishing  his  chances  of  walking 
out  of  the  Lasande — and  it  is  possible  that  he 
sensed  something  of  the  kind,  for  his  smile  dis- 
appeared abruptly,  and  the  assurance  that  had 
been  with  him  was  no  more. 

"I  can't  tell  you  where  I  live !"  he  said  hoarsely. 

"In  the  name  of  heaven,  why  not?"  Anthony 
snapped. 

"Because — because — well,  you  may  not  under- 
stand this,  sir,  but  I  promised  father  I  wouldn't 
tell  any  one  where  we  live." 

"What?" 

"I  did,  and  I  can't  break  a  promise!"  David 
insisted.  "You  see,  father  was  rich  once,  and 
he's  terribly  proud.  He  doesn't  want  any  one  to 
know  we  live  in  such  a  poor  place,  because  some- 
body he  used  to  know  might  hear  of  it  and  try 
to  help  him,  and  that  would  break  father's 
heart." 


58  IN  AND  OUT 

"His  heart's  in  pretty  bad  shape,  isn't  it?" 
Johnson  Boiler  muttered. 

"Frightful!"  said  David.  "And  that's  why  I'll 
have  to  go  now  and  explain  to  him  and  think  it 
all  over  and " 

"Why  think  it  over?"  Anthony  rasped.  "Isn't 
your  mind  made  up  now?" 

"Of  course  it  is,"  the  boy  said  hastily.  "Only 
I'll  have  to  tell  father  and  then  come  back  here 
in  the  morning,  Mr.  Fry;  only — /  have  to  go 
home  now!" 

His  voice  broke  strangely. 

Anthony  Fry  looked  him  over  with  a  quantity 
of  sour  curiosity. 

If  the  golden  opportunity  before  his  very  eyes 
was  making  even  the  trace  of  an  impression  on 
David  Prentiss,  the  boy's  faculty  for  masking  his 
true  emotions  was  downright  amazing.  That 
bright,  rather  attractive  young  countenance  told 
of  absolutely  nothing  but  the  heartfelt  desire  to 
escape  from  the  gentleman  who  wished  to  improve 
his  condition. 

It  was  the  same  old  story,  world-old  and  world- 
wide. David,  once  he  was  out  of  this  apartment, 
would  never  return;  with  opportunity  fairly  push- 


THE  RELUCTANT  ONE  59 

ing  against  him,  he  turned  from  her  in  terror, 
refusing  to  know  that  she  was  there. 

Well,  then,  he  should  see  her! 

Anthony's  square  chin  set.  He  rose  with  a  jerk 
and  stood  surveying  the  nervous  David,  a  tall, 
commanding,  rather  fearsome  figure.  Some  little 
time  he  transfixed  the  lad  with  his  cold,  hard  eyes, 
while  David  grew  paler  and  paler;  then  he  walked 
down  upon  David,  who  cringed  visibly,  and  seized 
his  shoulders. 

"David,"  he  said  sternly,  "you  have  no  con- 
ception at  all  of  what  I  am  trying  to  offer  you. 
I'm  going  to  keep  you  here  until  you  have." 

"KeJep  me — here?"  David  faltered. 

"Just  that." 

It  was  in  Johnson  Boiler's  mind  to  rise  and 
deliver  a  little  speech  of  his  own,  pointing  out  the 
legal  rights  of  David  Prentiss  and  the  chance  that, 
at  some  later  date,  interested  parties  might  hear 
of  this  evening  and  use  it  in  moving  Anthony 
toward  an  insane  asylum.  Yet  he  did  not  speak, 
for  he  grew  interested  in  David  himself. 

That  bewildered  youngster  was  shrinking  and 
shrinking  away  from  Anthony.  He  was  wilting 
before  the  stern  eye,  and  he  was  smiling  in  the 


60  IN  AND  OUT 

sickliest,  most  ghastly  fashion.  And  now  he  was 
nodding  submissively  and  speaking: 

"Yes,  I'll  stay,  Mr.  Fry." 

"Ah!"  said  Anthony. 

"I— I'm  glad  to  stay,"  David  assured  him. 

Then,  looking  at  Anthony,  he  contrived  another 
smile  and  yawned;  and  having  yawned  once,  he 
yawned  again,  vastly,  and  stretching  the  second 
time. 

"The — the  trouble  with  me  is  that  I'm  sleepy," 
David  stated,  in  a  strange,  low  voice.  "I  get 
that  way  because  I'm  not  used  to  late  hours,  and 
when  I  do  get  sleepy  I — I  can't  think  or  talk  or 
do  anything.  I'll  be  myself  in  the  morning,  Mr. 
Fry;  but  if  I'm  going  to  stay  here,  I'd  like  to  go 
to  bed  now." 

He  yawned  again  and  still  again,  quite  noisily 
and  eying  Anthony  in  an  odd,  expectant,  pleading 
way.  Anthony,  after  a  puzzled  moment,  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  smiled. 

"Go  to  bed  if  you  like,  David,"  he  said. 
"There  are  one  or  two  things  I  want  to  say  to 
you  first." 

"Yes,  sir,"  David  said  obediently. 

"To-morrow,  when  you  have  slept  on  it,  I'm 


THE  RELUCTANT  ONE  61 

confident  that  you  will  see  the  huge  opportunity 
that  I  have  offered  you,  and  that  you  will  Stay 
with  me  as  one  of  my  little  household.  It  is  not 
an  exacting  position,  but  there  are  one  or  two 
laws  you  must  remember.  For  the  first — no  dis- 
sipation. You  don't  drink,  David?" 

"Not  a  drop,  sir." 

"And  for  another,"  Anthony  said  gravely,  "no 
women!" 

"Eh?"  said  David. 

"Absolutely  no  women  in  this  Hotel  Lasande !" 
Anthony  repeated,  with  a  fanatic  force  that  caused 
Johnson  Boiler  to  snort  disgustedly  and  throw  up 
his  hands.  "This  is,  perhaps,  more  strictly  than 
any  other  house  in  New  York  an  all-man  estab- 
lishment. There  are  not  even  women  servants 
here,  David,  and  other  sorts  of  women  don't  run 
in  and  out  of  here.  In  fact,  the  ladies  who  do 
come — relatives  of  the  tenants,  of  course — are  so 
very  few  that  they're  all  known  to  the  clerks.  So, 
while  you  may  have  a  sweetheart,  David,  and 
while  she  may  be  all  very  well  in  her  place — keep 
her  out  of  herel" 

"But " 

"That's  the  unwritten  law  of  the  house,  and 


62  IN  AND  OUT 

it  makes  for  profound  peace,"  Anthony  con- 
cluded. "You'll  appreciate  it  more  fully  when 
you  have  lived  here  for  a  time." 

David,  facing  Mr.  Fry,  gazed  at  the  floor  and 
yawned  again. 

"I  guess  I'll  go  to  bed,"  he  said  weakly. 

"And  before  that  we'll  start  you  on  the  right 
track,"  Anthony  said  with  a  gentle  smile.  "You'll 
take  a  good,  hot  bath." 

He  pressed  the  button  and  Wilkins  ap- 
peared. 

"The  guest-chamber  for  young  Mr.  Prentiss, 
Wilkins,"  said  Anthony.  "You  will  outfit  him 
with  pajamas  of  my  own  and  the  gray  bathrobe 
I  used  last  year.  To-morrow  we'll  get  you  some- 
thing that  fits,  David." 

David  nodded  numbly. 

"And,  Wilkins,"  said  his  master,  "you  will 
assist  Mr.  Prentiss  with  his  bath." 

David's  nod  broke  in  two. 

"I  don't  want  any  help,"  he  said. 

"But  Wilkins " 

"Wilkins  or  anybody  else;  I  don't  want  any 
help  with  a  bath.  I  know  how  to  take  a  bath, 
at  least.  I  don't  know  how  you  swells  take 


THE  RELUCTANT  ONE  63 

yours,  but  I  take  mine  alone;  I  don't  want 
any  one  pottering  around  me,  and  I  won't  have 
it!" 

His  countenance  flushed  angrily,  and  Anthony 
favored  him  with  an  indulgent  smile.  After  all, 
he  was  very  young. 

"As  you  please,  David.  Show  him  to  the  north 
bathroom,  Wilkins.  That  is  all." 

But  he  tapped  Wilkins's  shoulder  and  held  him 
back  a  moment  to  add: 

"And  get  his  wretched  togs,  Wilkins.  I'll  dresf 
him  properly  to-morrow;  but  get  those  ra^s  awaj* 
from  him." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  said  Wilkins,  as  he  glided 
down  the  corridor  after  David. 

The  proprietor  of  Fry's  Imperial  Liniment 
watched  him  go  and  smiled  softly,  returning  to 
his  chair  to  grin  at  Johnson  Boiler  in  a  perfectly 
human  fashion.  Johnson  Boiler,  on  the  other 
hand,  did  not  grin  at  all.  He  merely  gazed  at  his 
old  friend  until,  after  a  minute  or  two,  Anthony 
asked: 

"Well— what  do  you  think?" 

"I  think  you're  a  nut!"  Johnson  Boiler  said 
with  sweet  candor.  "I  think  you're  a  plain  da — 


64  IN  AND  OUT 

well,  I  think  you're  unbalanced.  You  know  what 
that  young  thug  will  do  to  you,  don't  you?" 

"Eh?" 

"If  he's  the  crook  he  looks,  he'll  light  out  of 
here  about  three  in  the  morning  with  everything 
but  the  piano  and  your  encyclopaedia.  If  he  isn't 
a  crook,  just  as  soon  as  he  gets  loose  and  talks  it 
over  with  his  friends,  he'll  have  you  pinched  for 
detaining  him  here  against  his  will;  and  I'll  give 
you  ten  to  one  that  he  collects  not  less  than  twenty- 
five  hundred  dollars  before  he's  through.  You 
scared  him  stiff  with  your  eagle  eye  and  your 
crazy  notions,  and  he  pleaded  guilty  so  he  could 
go  to  bed  and  get  away  from  you.  I'll  have  to 
testify  to  that  if  he  calls  on  me." 

"Fiddlesticks !"  said  Anthony  Fry. 

"Is  it?  Wait  and  see,  Anthony,"  Johnson 
Boiler  said  earnestly.  "That  kid  spells  trouble. 
I  can  feel  it  in  the  air." 

"You  can  always  feel  it  in  the  air,"  Anthony 
smiled. 

"Maybe  so;  but  this  feeling  amounts  to  a 
pain!"  Boiler  said  warmly.  "This  is  a  hunch 
• — a  premonition — one  of  those  prophetic  aches 
that  can't  be  ignored.  Why,  he  had  a  fight 


THE  RELUCTANT  ONE  65 

started  before  you  had  spoken  ten  words  to  him, 
and " 

"Oh,  rot!"  Anthony  said. 

Johnson  Boiler  drew  a  deep,  concerned  breath. 

"On  the  level,"  he  said,  "are  you  going  to  keep 
this  kid  imprisoned  here?" 

"By  no  means,"  Anthony  laughed.  "As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  all  I  want  to  do  is  to  talk  to  him  in  the 
morning.  I  want  to  know,  Johnson,  whether  he 
will  actually  persist  in  fighting  off  the  chance  I'm 
offering  him — because  it's  so  confounded  char- 
acteristic of  the  whole  human  race.  If  he's  as 
obstinate  in  the  morning  as  he  is  now — well,  I 
suppose  I'll  turn  him  loose  with  a  ten-dollar  bill, 
and  look  around  for  another  subject.  I'd  really 
like  to  approach  a  dozen  men,  picked  haphazard, 
and  write  a  little  paper  on  the  manner  in  which 
they  greet  opportunity." 

"Yes,  but  not  while  I'm  with  you,"  Johnson 
Boiler  said.  "Anthony,  do  this — get  the  kid 
aside  in  the  morning  and  tell  him  you'd  been 
drinking  heavily  all  day  and  didn't  know 
what  you  were  doing  to-night.  See?  Make 
a  joke  of  it  and  slip  him  fifty  to  keep  quiet,  and 
then " 


66  IN  AND  OUT 

"Ah,  Wilkins,"  Anthony  smiled.  "Got  his  togs, 
did  you?" 

The  invaluable  one  bowed  and  held  the  shabby 
garments  at  a  distance  from  his  person. 

"He  passed  them  out  to  me  through  a  crack  in 
the  door,"  he  reported  disgustedly.  "What  shall 
I  do  with  them?  They're  hardly  worth  pressing, 
sir." 

"Of  course  not.  Don't  bother  with  them," 
Anthony  smiled,  and  waved  his  man  away. 
"Johnson,  turn  intelligent  for  a  moment,  will 
you?" 

"Why?  Intelligence  has  no  place  in  this  even- 
ing." 

"Oh,  yes  it  has.  Let's  examine  the  case  of 
this  David  youngster  and  try  to  reconstruct  his 
emotions  and  his  mental  impressions  when  con- 
fronted with  opportunity  such  as " 

"Damn  opportunity!"  said  Johnson  Boiler,  ris- 
ing with  a  jerk.  "I'm  going  to  bed!" 

Only  once  had  Johnson  Boiler  tarried  in  Mont- 
real, and  on  that  occasion  the  thermometer  had 
ranged  about  ninety  in  the  shade.  Yet  now,  as 
he  slumbered  fitfully  in  Anthony's  Circassian 


THE  RELUCTANT  ONE  67 

guest-chamber,  childhood  notions  of  Canada  came 
to  haunt  his  dreams. 

He  saw  snow — long,  glistening  roads  of  snow 
over  which  Beatrice  whizzed  in  a  four-horse 
sleigh,  with  driver  and  footman  on  the  box,  and 
beside  her  a  tall,  foreign-looking  creature  with  a 
big  mustache  and  flashing  eyes  and  teeth.  He 
talked  to  Beatrice  and  leaned  very  close,  devour- 
ing her  beauty  with  his  eyes;  and  Johnson  Boiler 
groaned,  woke  briefly,  and  drifted  off  again. 

He  saw  ice;  they  were  holding  an  ice  carnival 
in  Montreal,  and  everybody  was  on  skates. 
Beatrice  was  on  skates,  ravishing  in  white  fur, 
leading  some  sort  of  grand  march  with  the  Gov- 
ernor General  of  Canada,  who  skated  very  close 
to  her  and  devoured  her  beauty  with  his  bold, 
official  eyes,  causing  Johnson  Boiler  to  groan  again 
and  thresh  over  on  his  other  side. 

He  saw  a  glittering  toboggan  slide;  laughing 
people  in  furs  were  there  at  the  head  of  the  slide, 
notably  Beatrice,  chatting  shyly  with  a  blond  giant 
in  a  Mackinaw,  who  leaned  very  close  to  her  as 
they  prepared  to  coast  and  devoured  her  beauty 
with  his  large,  blue  eyes.  Now  they  settled  on 
the  toboggan,  just  these  two,  although  Johnson 


68  IN  AND  OUT 

Boiler's  astral  self  seemed  to  be  with  them.  The 
blond  giant  whispered  something,  and  they  slid 
down — down — down ! 

And  they  struck  something,  and  Johnson  Boiler 
was  on  his  feet  in  the  middle  of  the  Circassian 
chamber,  demanding: 

"What's  that?    What  was  that?" 

Somewhere,  Anthony  was  muttering  and  mov- 
ing about.  Somewhere  else,  Wilkins  was  chatter- 
ing; but  the  main  impression  was  that  the  roof 
had  fallen  in — and  Johnson  Boiler,  struggling  into 
his  bathrobe,  stumbled  to  the  door  and  burst  into 
the  brilliant  living-room. 

In  the  center  of  the  room,  flattened  upon  the 
floor,  was  Anthony's  substantial  little  desk. 
Papers  were  around  it  and  blotters  and  letters 
without  number,  and  the  old-fashioned  inkwell  had 
shot  off  its  top  and  set  a  black  streak  across  the 
beautiful  Oriental  carpet. 

Two  chairs  were  on  their  sides,  also,  but  the 
striking  detail  of  the  picture  was  furnished  by 
David  Prentiss.  That  young  man  was  sprawled 
crazily,  just  beyond  the  desk,  and  beside  him, 
holding  him  down  with  both  hands,  was  Wil- 
kins, tastefully  arrayed  in  the  flowered  silk 


69 

pajamas  Anthony  had  discarded  last  year  as  too 
vivid. 

"I've  got  him,  sir!"  Wilkins'  pale  lips  reported, 
as  his  master  appeared.  "I  have  him  fast." 

"What'd  he  do?"  Johnson  Boiler  asked  quickly. 
"Pull  a  knife  on  you,  Wilkins?" 

"He'd  not  time  for  that,  sir,"  Wilkins  said 
grimly.  "I  think  he  stumbled  over  a  chair  and 
took  the  desk  along  with  him,  trying  to  get  out. 
I  always  wake  just  as  the  clock  strikes  two,  and 
stay  awake  ten  minutes  or  more,  and  that's  how 
I  came  to  hear  him  and  get  him.  He  was  just 
getting  to  his  feet  when  I  ran  in  and  turned  on 
the  lights,  and  he " 

"Let  him  up !"  Anthony  said  sharply. 

"But  don't  let  go  of  him!"  Johnson  Boiler  said 
harshly.  "I  missed  the  time  by  an  hour,  but  I 
was  right  otherwise,  Anthony.  He's  got  the  silver 
and  your  stick-pins  and  rings  on  him,  and — what 
the  dickens  is  he  wearing?" 

Silence  fell  upon  them  for  a  little,  as  David 
struggled  to  his  feet  and  looked  about  with  a 
strange,  trancelike  stare — for  there  was  some  rea- 
son for  Mr.  Boiler's  query. 

David,  apparently,  had  dressed  for  the  street. 


70  IN  AND  OUT 

He  wore  shoes  not  less  than  five  sizes  too  long; 
he  wore  a  bright  brown  sack  coat  which  came 
almost  to  his  knees,  and  blue  trousers  which  were 
turned  up  until  they  all  but  met  the  coat  He 
had  acquired  a  rakish  felt  hat,  too,  which  rested 
mainly  on  the  back  of  his  neck. 

"He  got  them  clothes  out  of  the  junk-closet  at 
the  end  of  the  corridor,  sir,"  Wilkins  said  quite 
breathlessly.  "He  must  have  been  roaming  the 
place  quite  a  bit,  to  have  found  them,  and " 

"What  were  you  trying  to  do,  David?"  Anthony 
snapped. 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  David  said  vaguely,  pass- 
ing a  hand  over  his  eyes  in  a  manner  far  too 
dramatic  to  be  convincing. 

"Where  did  you  get  those  clothes?" 

"I  have  no  idea,  sir,"  David  murmured. 

"Don't  lie  to  me!"  Anthony  snapped. 
"What " 

"I'm  not  lying,  sir,"  David  said  in  the  same 
vague,  far-away  tone.  "I  must  have  been  asleep, 
Mr.  Fry.  I  remember  having  a  terrible  dream — 
it  was  about  father  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  he 
was  dying.  There  were  doctors  all  about  the  bed 
and  father  was  calling  to  me,  and  it  seemed  to 


THE  RELUCTANT  ONE  71 

me  that  I  must  get  to  him,  no  matter  what  stood 
in  the  way.  I  remember  trying  to  go  to  him,  and 
then — why,  I  must  have  fallen  there,  sir,  and 
wakened." 

For  an  instant  the  vagueness  left  his  eyes  and 
they  looked  straight  at  Anthony. 

"May  I  go  to  father  now?"  he  asked.  "That — 
that  dream  upset  me." 

"Morning  will  do  for  father,"  Anthony  said 
briefly. 

"But  I  have  a  feeling  that  something  terrible's 
going  to  happen  if  I  don't  go " 

Anthony  Fry  laid  a  kindly  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Get  back  to  bed,  youngster,"  he  smiled. 
"You're  nervous,  I  suppose,  being  in  a  strange 
bed,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  And  incidentally, 
get  off  those  clothes  and  give  them  to  Wilkins." 

David  gulped  audibly. 

"I'll  pass  them  out  to  Wilkins,  if  I  must,  sir," 
he  said  in  the  queerest,  choking  voice — and  he 
turned  from  them  and  shuffled  down  the  corridor 
to  the  north  bedroom  of  Anthony  Fry's  apartment. 

"Curious  kid!"  Anthony  muttered. 

"Not  nearly  as  curious  as  you  are,"  said  John- 
son Boiler.  "You  didn't  even  go  through  his 


72  IN  AND  OUT 

pockets  and  get  out  the  stuff  while  he  was  here, 
and  we  could  see  just  what  he'd  taken !  You  let 
him  go  in  there  and  dump  the  pockets  before  he 
gives  up  the  clothes  and " 

Anthony  permitted  himself  a  grin  and  a  yawn. 

"My  dear  chap,  go  back  to  bed  and  forget  it," 
he  said  impatiently.  "The  boy  was  stealing  noth- 
ing. He  may  have  been  trying  to  escape;  he 
may  have  been  walking  in  his  sleep.  Consciously 
or  subconsciously,  he's  certainly  giving  us  a  demon- 
stration of  humanity's  tendency  to  dodge  its  op- 
portunities." 

Johnson  Boiler  gave  It  up  and  returned,  soured, 
to  his  Circassian  walnut  bedstead — soured  because, 
if  there  was  one  thing  above  all  others  that  he 
abominated,  it  was  being  routed  out  in  the  middle 
of  the  night. 

Five  minutes  or  more  he  spent  in  muttering  be- 
fore he  drifted  away  again,  this  time  to  arrive 
at  somebody's  grand  ball  in  Montreal.  It  was  a 
tremendous  function,  plainly  given  in  honor  of 
Beatrice's  arrival  in  town,  yet  she  was  not  im- 
mediately visible.  Johnson  Boiler's  dream  per- 
sonality hunted  around  for  some  time  before  it 
found  her  in  the  conservatory. 


THE  RELUCTANT  ONE  73 

Behind  thick  palms,  Beatrice  sat  with  a  broad- 
shouldered  person  in  the  uniform  of  a  field- 
marshal;  he  had  a  string  of  medals  on  his  chest, 
and  he  was  devouring  her  beauty  with  his  hungry 
eyes.  Nay,  more,  he  leaned  close  to  Beatrice  and 
sought  to  take  her  hand,  and  although  she  shrank 
from  him  in  terror,  there  was  a  certain  fascinated 
light  in  her  own  lovely  black  eyes;  she  clutched 
her  bosom  and  sought  to  escape,  but 

"Oh,  my  Lord!"  said  Johnson  Boiler,  awaken- 
ing to  stare  at  the  dark  ceiling. 

Somewhere  a  window  slammed. 

He  listened  for  a  little  and  heard  nothing  more ; 
then,  having  the  room  nearest  the  elevators,  he 
heard  one  of  them  hum  up  swiftly  and  heard  the 
gate  clatter  open.  And  then  there  were  voices 
and  some  one  knocked  on  the  door  of  the  apart- 
ment with  a  club,  as  it  seemed.  Somebody  else 
protested  and  pressed  the  buzzer — and  by  that 
time  Wilkins  had  padded  down  the  hall  and  was 
opening  the  door. 

Johnson  Boiler  caught : 

"Police  officer!  Lemme  in  quick!  You've  got 
a  burglar  in  there!" 


WILKINS,  in  his  official  black,  was  a  won- 
derfully  self-contained   person;   roused 
from  slumber  in  pink-rosed  silk,  his  self- 
control  was  not  so  perfect,  for  as  he  struggled 
out  of  bed  again  Johnson  Boiler  caught : 

"God  bless  my  soul,  officer!     What " 

"Hush!"  interrupted  an  unfamiliar,  horrified 
voice.  "Come  inside  quickly  and  close  that  door." 
Anthony  was  in  motion,  too.  Johnson  Boiler, 
stumbling  out  of  his  Circassian  apartment,  met 
him  just  entering  the  living-room  from  his  own 
chamber,  and  for  an  instant  they  stared  at  one 
another  as  they  knotted  bathrobe  cords  about 
them, 

"You   see?"   Johnson   Boiler  said,   with   acid 
triumph.    "I  was  right,  eh?" 
"What?" 

"The  cops  have  tracked  the  little  devil  down 
74 


THE  WEE  SMA'  HOURS  75 

for  his  last  job,  whatever  that  may  have  been, 
and  they've  found  him  here!  Now  you've  got  a 
nice  scandal  on  your  hands,  haven't  you?  A  tenth- 
rate  kid  crook  found  hiding  in  the  flat  of  Mr. 
Anthony  Fry,  with  the  full  knowledge  and  con- 
sent of " 

"Upon  my  word,  Johnson,  I  think  you've  lost 
your  senses  to-night!"  Anthony  snapped.  "What- 
ever is  wrong,  Wilkins?" 

The  silk-pajamaed  one  indicated  their  visitors 
with  a  hand  that  was  none  too  steady. 

"It's  Mr.  Dodbury,  the  night  manager,  sir,  and 
this  policeman  that  says " 

"I'm  afraid  you  have  a  burglar  in  here,  Mr. 
Fry,"  the  manager  put  in  agitatedly.  "I  can't 
understand  how  it  occurred;  nothing  of  the  kind 
has  ever  happened  to  us  before,  and  the  mouth 
of  that  alley  is  constantly  under  the  eye  of  the 
firemen  on  that  side  of  the  boiler-room.  More- 
over, there  is  a  high  gate  from  the  street  and  I 
cannot  believe  that  any  one " 

The  burly  officer  halted  him. 

"Well,  however  he  got  there,  he  was  on  the 
fire-escape  and  coming  down  when  I  see  him  from 
the  street,"  he  said  energetically.  "When  he 


76  IN  AND  OUT 

seen  me  he  turned  into  this  north  window  and 
closed  it  after  him,  and  my  partner'd  have  given 
me  the  whistle  if  he'd  come  out  again.  Which 
room  will  it  be,  now?" 

Wilkins  glanced  significantly  at  his  master. 

"If  it's  the  north  room  on  the  fire-escape,  sir, 
it  must  be  the  room  young  Mr.  Prentiss  has  to- 
night." 

"And  the  burglar  is  supposed  to  have  gone  in 
there?"  Anthony  said  calmly. 

"He  ain't  supposed — he  went.  I  seen  him!" 
stated  the  law.  "And  the  longer  we  stand  here 
and  talk  about  it,  the  more  chance  he  has  to  kill 
whoever's  in  there!" 

"Well,  as  it  happens,  he  isn't  killing  any  one, 
because  he  isn't  there,"  Mr.  Fry  said  patiently 
and  with  just  a  touch  of  contempt.  "Any  one 
entering  that  room  must  have  wakened  Mr. 
Prentiss,  and  he  certainly  hasn't  called  for  help. 
For  that  matter,  I  should  have  heard  the  window 
myself,  because  I  sleep  very  lightly.  Nevertheless, 
if  you  wish,  we  will  go  in  there." 

Impressively  dignified  even  in  his  bathrobe, 
Anthony  led  the  way  down  the  side  corridor,  with 
the  four  trailing  after  him.  They  came  to  the 


THE  WEE  SMA1  HOURS  77 

door,  and  the  officer  pushed  forward,  club  raised 
grimly  over  his  right  shoulder  as  he  laid  his  left 
hand  on  the  knob. 

"Where's  the  light-switch  in  there?"  he  whis- 
pered. 

"Right  by  the  door,"  Wilkins  supplied. 

"Duck  in  the  second  I  turn  the  knob,  throw  on 
the  light,  and  then  dodge  along  the  wall,"  the  law 
commanded  briefly.  "Are  you  ready?" 

The  invaluable  one  muttered  his  assent.  The 
knob  turned  soundlessly  and  the  door  flew  open. 
Wilkins,  with  a  distinctly  terrified  little  wheeze, 
pushed  in,  jabbed  at  the  button,  and  scurried  down 
the  room  on  his  hands  and  knees,  eyes  shut  to 
shield  his  brain  from  the  horrible  impression. 

Yet  there  was  no  hint  of  anything  horrible. 
With  all  four  corners  of  the  room  in  plain  sight, 
with  the  empty  closet  partly  open  and  its  interior 
fully  visible,  no  burglar  crouched,  pistol  in  hand — 
no  masked  malefactor  leaped  forward  to  stun  the 
officer  with  his  padded  lead-pipe.  Only  David 
Prentiss  was  in  the  room,  and  David  slumbered 
sweetly  in  the  bed,  the  covers  pulled  tight  up 
around  his  young  chin,  a  gentle  dream-smile  upon 
his  regular  features. 


78  IN  AND  OUT 

"Well,  wotter  yuh  know  about "  the  officer 

began. 

"Hush!"  Anthony  said  gently. 

"What?" 

"Don't  wake  the  youngster!"  Anthony  whis- 
pered sharply.  "There's  no  need  for  that,  officer. 
Look  around  if  you  like  and  then  let  us  get  out 
of  here." 

He  folded  his  arms  and  waited,  while  the 
officer,  visibly  puzzled,  poked  about  the  room,  and 
Wilkins,  on  his  feet  and  smiling  sheepishly,  tip- 
toed to  the  door — while  the  night  manager  of 
the  Lasande  stepped  in  and  looked  about  with  a 
mixture  of  perplexity  and  relief,  and  Johnson 
Boiler  stood  and  stared  at  the  sleeping  David. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  it  was  this  window,  officer?" 
the  manager  asked. 

"I  am  that,  if  this  is  the  one  next  to  the  corner 
of  the  house." 

"But  are  you  quite  sure  that  you  didn't  imagine 
it?"  Anthony  asked  tartly. 

The  policeman  looked  him  over  gravely. 

"Boss,  when  I  can  see  a  man  in  black  clothes 
staring  down  at  me,  letting  off  a  little  howl  of 
fright,  and  then  turning  around  and  going  into 


THE  WEE  SMA'  HOURS  79 

a  window — when  I  can  see  that  and  it  ain't  there, 
I'll  turn  in  my  tin  and  go  back  to  the  docks.  The 
guy  came  in  this  window  and " 

"Well,  since  it  is  quite  evident  that  he  didn't, 
he  couldn't  have  come  in,"  the  manager  of  the 
faultless  hotel  said  hastily,  as  he  caught  Anthony's 
expression.  "You've  made  a  mistake  in  the  win- 
dow, officer.  We'll  go  down  and  look  up  from 
the  street  again  and  see  just  what  window  you 
do  mean." 

"But " 

"We  will  not  bother  the  gentlemen  further," 
Mr.  Dodbury  said  firmly. 

Anthony  nodded. 

"Show  them  out,  Wilkins.     Come,  Johnson." 

"Wait  a  second,"  Johnson  Boiler  said  softly, 
as  the  others  filed  out  of  sight. 

"Wait  for  what?" 

"I  want  to  admire  this  little  cherub,  sleeping 
here  so  soundly,"  Mr.  Boiler  muttered. 

"Don't  be  absurd!     Come  and " 

This  thing  of  losing  sleep  rendered  Johnson 
Boiler  uglier  than  could  anything  else  in  the 
world. 

"Are  they  out  of  hearing?"  he  said.    "All  right. 


8o  IN  AND  OUT 

Somebody  did  close  a  window  in  here.  I  heard  it 
close!" 

"When?" 

"Five  minutes  before  the  last  excitement,"  said 
Mr.  Boiler.  "How  many  pair  of  pajamas  did 
Wilkins  give  this  kid?" 

"What?    One  pair,  I  suppose.    Why?" 

Johnson  Boiler  grinned  almost  wickedly. 

"Because  there's  a  pajama  suit  under  that  chair 
and  it's  been  worn!"  said  he.  "What's  the  kid 
wearing  in  bed  there?" 

He  stepped  forward  suddenly  and  jerked  back 
the  covers,  and  Anthony  stepped  forward  with 
a  sharp  little  exclamation,  for  David  Prentiss, 
although  he  seemed  to  slumber  between  the  sheets, 
wore  a  suit  of  black  clothes  and  a  pair  of  black 
shoes,  and  beside  him  a  black  felt  hat  was  crum- 
pled! 

"Maybe  that  cop  wasn't  the  idiot  he  seemed, 
eh?"  Johnson  Boiler  asked. 

"I  don't  understand  it,"  Anthony  said  angrily. 
"I— David!" 

The  boy  merely  sighed  in  his  sleep  and  turned 
on  his  back. 

"David!"  Johnson  Boiler  snapped,  thrusting  a 


THE  WEE  SMA'  HOURS  81 

hard  forefinger  directly  into  the  pit  of  David's 
stomach. 

"Good  gracious!"  gasped  David  Prentiss,  sit- 
ting up  and  staring  about  with  eyes  wide  open. 
"What — I  must  have  been  asleep  and " 

Anthony's  gaze  was  growing  keener  and  angrier 
by  the  second. 

"Never  mind  that  artistic  amazement,  David," 
he  said  sourly.  "What  were  you  trying  to  do?" 

"Trying?"  echoed  David.    "To  do?" 

"Those  are  Wilkins's  clothes.  Where  did  you 
get  them?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Yes,  you  do!"  Anthony  snapped.  "You  must 
have  found  them  in  his  room.  Well?" 

David  gazed  up  at  him  with  the  same  unfathom- 
able look  that  had  so  disturbed  Johnson  Boiler  in 
the  taxicab. 

"Very  well — I  did  find  them  in  his  room,"  he 
said.  "I  put  them  on  because  I  couldn't  find  my 
own  clothes,  and  I — I  wanted  to  get  to  father." 

"Yes,  and  now  you're  going  to  father  I"  John- 
son Boiler  said  decisively.  "Better  let  him  go, 
Anthony." 

David  was  on  his  feet  with  one  swing. 


82  IN  AND  OUT 

"That's  the  only  thing  to  do  with  me,"  he  said 
heartily.  "I'm  too  much  of  a  nuisance  to  keep 
around,  Mr.  Fry;  I'm  so  worried  about  father 
that  I  can't  think  of  anything  else.  So  now  I'll 
go  and " 

"So  now  you'll  stay  right  here!"  Anthony  said 
fiercely. 

"Why?"  Boiler  asked. 

"Because  I've  undertaken  to  show  this  kid  the 
opportunity  of  his  lifetime,  and  I'll  drive  it  into 
his  infernal  little  skull  if  I  have  to  chloroform 
him  and  have  a  surgeon  drill  a  hole  to  let  it 
through!"  Mr.  Fry  said  quite  irresponsibly. 

David  collapsed  hopelessly  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed. 

"I — I  should  think  you'd  be  so  out  of  patience 
with  me "  he  began  mournfully. 

"I  am,  but  I'm  not  going  to  drop  the  job  on 
that  account,"  Anthony  said  grimly.  "Shed  those 
clothes,  David." 

"I'll  shed  'em  when  you  go  out,"  David  said 
monotonously.  "I — I'd  rather  undress  alone." 

Johnson  Boiler's  plump  hands  were  on  his 
plump  hips  and  he  surveyed  his  old  friend 
darkly. 


THE  WEE  SMA'  HOURS  83 

"Are  you  actually  going  to  keep  the  youngster 
here  against  his  will?"  he  demanded. 

"I  am!"  snapped  Anthony  Fry. 

Johnson  Boiler  swallowed  his  wondering 
rage. 

"I  hope  you  get  all  that's  coming  to  you!"  he 
said.  "I  hope  he  sues  you  for  a  million  dollars 
and  collects  every  penny  of  it!" 

And  he  turned  and  thumped  out  of  David's 
chamber,  down  the  corridor,  and  into  the  living- 
room,  across  the  living-room,  and  into  his  own 
bedchamber — and  there  for  a  little  he  sat  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed  and  swore  aloud. 

Presently  he  heard  Anthony  come  through 
from  David's  room,  muttering  to  himself;  he 
heard  the  switch  snap,  and  the  streak  of  light 
under  his  door  vanished. 

With  a  long,  weary  groan,  Johnson  Boiler 
slipped  back  to  slumberland,  and  presently  he  was 
again  in  Montreal.  It  was  still  winter,  and  they 
were  holding  a  skiing  contest.  Beatrice  was  there 
at  the  top  of  the  slide,  and  beside  her  stood  a 
tall,  foppish  youth  with  a  little  blond  mustache. 
He  leaned  very  close  to  Beatrice  as  he  spoke,  and 
devoured  her  beauty  with  his  hungry  eyes. 


84  IN  AND  OUT 

In  the  east  the  first  gray  light  of  dawn  was 
streaking  the  skies. 

In  Anthony  Fry's  living-room,  ever  so  faintly, 
objects  just  took  shape  in  the  gloom,  coming  fog- 
gily out  of  the  inky  blackness  that  had  been,  even 
ten  minutes  ago.  Down  the  corridor  a  door 
creaked,  and  for  a  minute  or  more  after  the  creak 
the  stillness  was  even  more  pronounced. 

Then,  had  one  been  awake  and  listening,  the 
softest,  lightest  shuffle  came  from  the  corridor — • 
paused — moved  on  again.  There  was  a  sharp 
intake  of  breath  and  the  almost  inaudible  sound 
of  a  hand  feeling  along  the  corridor  wall,  feeling 
along  and  feeling  along,  until  it  touched  the  cur- 
tains of  the  living-room. 

In  the  wide  doorway  of  the  dusky  place  an  in- 
definite, strange  figure  appeared  and  stopped.  It 
wore  slippers,  several  sizes  too  large.  It  wore  a 
bathrobe  of  gray,  so  long  that  its  owner  held  it 
up  from  the  floor  to  avoid  tripping.  It  wore 
pajamas,  too,  and  of  these  the  legs  were  upturned 
almost  one  foot — for  they  were  Anthony's  pa- 
jamas. 

Warily  the  figure  gazed  about,  squinting 
through  the  gloom  for  half  a  minute,  listening 


85 

intently.  Its  frowzy  brown  head  nodded  then 
and  the  bathrobed  one  tiptoed  on,  now  with  a 
definite  idea  of  direction.  Past  Anthony's  door 
it  went  and  past  Johnson  Boiler's  without  a  sound, 
without  a  slip — stopped  to  listen  again,  and  then 
scuffed  on  toward  the  far  corner,  where  stood  the 
little  telephone  table. 

And  now,  trembling,  the  figure  settled  on  the 
stool,  and  shaky  hands  gripped  the  instrument  it- 
self. The  receiver  went  to  its  ear  and  the  figure 
whispered  into  the  transmitter — trembled  the 
harder  and  waited  through  minutes  that  were 
hours,  while  from  behind  Johnson  Boiler's  door 
came  an  irregular  snore  and  an  occasional  groan, 
as  some  new  fiend  sought  to  capture  Beatrice's 
slender  hand. 

Suddenly  a  visible  shock  ran  through  the  stealthy 
figure  at  the  telephone.  The  trembling  ceased 
abruptly  and  the  figure  stiffened,  leaning  forward 
eagerly  and  cupping  a  hand  about  the  transmitter. 
Thrice  it  whispered  shrilly,  nodding  desperately 
at  the  uncomprehending  instrument;  and  at  last 
the  listener  at  the  other  end  seemed  to  under- 
stand, for  the  figure  pressed  lips  even  closer  and 
spoke  swiftly. 


86  IN  AND  OUT 

A  full  two  minutes  of  sharp  whispering  and  it 
waited — listened  and  nodded  animatedly — spoke 
again,  enunciating  each  word  clearly  and  still  so 
softly  that  one  across  the  living-room  could  not 
have  heard. 

Without  the  suggestion  of  a  click,  the  receiver 
was  returned  to  its  hook.  The  figure  rose  cau- 
tiously and  peered  all  about,  through  the  shadows, 
getting  its  bearings  once  more.  Again  the  bath- 
robe was  gathered  high  above  the  grotesquely 
slippered  feet;  again  the  figure  shuffled  along, 
moving  toward  the  doorway. 

Without  a  stumble  it  threaded  its  mysterious 
way  between  chairs  and  little  tables,  divans  and 
cases  and  pedestals,  until  it  came  safely  to  the 
corridor.  There  it  paused  for  an  instant,  and  in 
the  gloom  the  faintest,  excited  giggle  issued  from 
beside  the  curtains.  Then  the  corridor  doorway 
was  empty,  and  Johnson  Boiler  snored  on  and 
groaned. 

At  the  end  of  the  corridor  David  Prentiss's 
door  closed  and  utter  stillness  rested  upon  the 
apartment  again. 

After  the  skiing  contest,  although  Johnson  Bol- 


THE  WEE  SMA'  HOURS  87 

ler  did  not  seem  to  be  present  at  the  end,  all  hands 
trooped  off  to  a  clubhouse  of  some  kind  and  there 
was  a  general  jollification.  Lovely  women,  hand- 
some men  grouped  about  a  long  table,  and  waiters 
rushed  hither  and  thither,  bearing  viands  and  wine 
— although  mostly  wine. 

He  of  the  little  blond  mustache  sat  beside  Bea- 
trice, and  as  the  champagne  came  around  for  the 
second  or  third  time  he  leaped  from  his  chair. 
Glass  high  held,  he  pointed  to  Johnson  Boiler's 
lovely  wife  with  the  other  hand;  he  was  beginning 
a  toast,  the  temperature  and  intimacy  of  which 
caused  Johnson  Boiler's  fists  to  clench,  and — he 
woke  with  a  violent  jerk  and  stared  at  the  ceil- 
ing. 

It  was  daylight — had  been  daylight  for  some 
time,  apparently,  because  an  early  sun  was  re- 
flected from  the  high  building  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street.  Wilkins  seemed  to  be  moving 
around,  too,  which  indicated  that  it  was  at  least 
six  o'clock. 

Johnson  Boiler  stretched  and  snarled;  he  had 
had  a  wretched  night  of  it  I  He  was  tired  all 
through,  as  he  was  always  tired  when  his  rest  had 
been  broken.  He  was  ugly  as  sin,  too,  and  almost 


88 

at  once  he  found  his  ugliness  focusing  on  young 
David  Prentiss. 

If  Anthony  Fry  had  carried  his  obsession  over 
into  the  daylight,  if  he  still  persisted  in  poking 
his  idiotic  opportunity  at  David  and  the  end  of  it 
did  not  seem  to  be  in  sight,  Johnson  Boiler  de- 
cided that  the  empty  flat  on  Riverside  should  know 
its  master's  presence  hereafter  and — Boiler  sat  up 
in  bed,  listening. 

That  was  certainly  Wilkins's  voice,  raised  in  hor- 
ror— ah,  and  Wilkins  was  hurrying,  too.  Or  no, 
it  couldn't  be  Wilkins;  that  was  somebody  a  good 
deal  lighter,  rushing  along  the  corridor.  And 
now  the  oddest  babel  of  voices  had  risen,  with 
Wilkins  thrusting  in  an  incoherent  word  here  and 
there — and  now  the  voices  were  growing  fainter, 
all  of  a  sudden,  and  he  could  hear  Anthony  Fry 
stirring  in  the  next  room. 

Something  new  had  happened  I  Johnson  Boiler, 
swinging  out  of  bed,  jammed  his  feet  into  his 
slippers  and  snatched  up  his  bathrobe.  Another 
night  like  this,  and  he'd  be  ready  for  emergency 
drill  with  a  fire  company. 

Not  that  there  was  any  need  for  haste,  though. 
By  the  time  he  had  opened  the  door  and  stepped 


THE  WEE  SMA'  HOURS  89 

into  the  living-room  the  little  excitement  seemed 
to  have  quieted  down  again.  Anthony,  bath- 
robed  also,  was  just  issuing  from  his  bedroom, 
and  again,  for  a  moment,  they  gazed  at  one 
another. 

"What  was  it  that  time?"  Johnson  Boiler 
asked. 

"I've  no  idea.     Did  you  hear  it,  too?" 

"Naturally.  I " 

"Why,  Wilkins!"  Anthony  Fry  all  but  gasped, 
as  his  servitor  appeared  in  the  doorway.  "What 
under  the  sun's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"My — my  eye,  sir!"  choked  the  faithful  one. 
"It's  downright  scandalous,  Mr.  Fry!" 

"What  is?" 

"The — the  woman,  sir!  The  woman  that's 
come  to  see  him!" 

His  jaw  sagged  senselessly  and  his  blank  eyes 
regarded  his  master  quite  fishily;  and  Anthony, 
after  a  wondering  second  or  so,  scuffed  over  to 
him  and  snapped: 

"What's  wrong  with  you,  Wilkins?  What 
woman  came?" 

"A — a  young  Frenchwoman,  I  should  judge, 
sir,"  Wilkins  stammered.  "She  came  to  the  door 


90  IN  AND  OUT 

here,  getting  past  the  office  I  don't  know  how. 
At  any  rate,  she  came,  sir,  and  said  some  gibberish 
about  Mr.  David  Prentiss,  and  with  that  she  was 
past  me  and  inside,  Mr.  Fry." 

"Where  is  she  now?" 

"Well,  she — she's  in  his  bedroom,  sir!"  Wilkins 
stated.  "The  young  chap  came  flying  out  like  a 
madman,  Mr.  Fry,  and  threw  his  arms  around 
her,  speaking  French  as  I  suppose.  And  she — 
she  threw  her  arms  around  Mr.  Prentiss,  sir,  and 
with  that  they — well,  they're  in  there  now,  sir." 

Johnson  Boiler  laughed  unpleasantly. 

"Picked  off  a  live  one,  didn't  you,  Anthony?" 
said  he.  "There's  nothing  slow  about  David. 
He  comes  here  and  settles  down  at  midnight,  and 
his  lady  friends  are  calling  by  six  the  next  morn- 
ing. When  you " 

Anthony  had  passed  him,  chin  set  and  lips 
rather  white. 

There  are  some  places  where  the  questionable 
may  be  passed  over  quite  lightly.  The  Hotel 
Lasande  is  not  one  of  these  places.  There  are 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  bachelors  who  would 
merely  have  grinned  interestedly  at  the  news;  An- 
thony, being  impeccable  and  a  genuine  woman- 


THE  WEE  SMA'  HOURS  91 

hater  at  heart,  was  not  of  these  thousands.  Hence, 
even  his  lean  and  aristocratic  cheeks  were  white 
as  he  rattled  at  the  knob  of  David's  door. 

He  had  expected  to  find  it  locked,  and  in  that 
he  was  disappointed.  The  door  gave  quite  readily, 
admitting  Anthony  and  Johnson  Boiler  as  well — 
and  for  a  matter  of  seconds  they  stood  transfixed 
before  the  picture. 

Beyond  question,  the  woman  was  there! 

She  was  little  and  very  dark,  decidedly  pretty, 
for  that  matter,  and  obviously  fond  of  David 
Prentiss;  she  sat  at  David's  side  on  the  edge  of 
the  bed  and  her  arms  were  about  David — while 
young  Mr.  Prentiss  himself  held  her  fast  and 
seemed  in  a  high  state  of  excitement. 

Even  as  the  door  opened,  they  had  been  speak- 
ing, both  at  the  same  time  and  both  in  French, 
in  itself  rather  an  astonishing  phenomenon;  but 
as  the  bathrobed  gentlemen  stopped  beside  them 
they  ceased  speaking.  They  merely  clutched  each 
other  the  tighter  and  looked  at  Anthony. 

"Well?"  Anthony  Fry  said  slowly,  and  his  voice 
was  a  terrible  thing  to  hear. 

"Well?"  David  said  faintly. 

His  pretty  little  friend  broke  into  a  torrent  of 


92  IN  AND  OUT 

French,  of  which,  unfortunately,  neither  Anthony 
nor  Johnson  Boiler  could  make  anything  at  all. 
David,  with  a  long,  gasping  intake  of  his  breath, 
muttered  something  to  her,  and  that  proving 
futile,  put  a  gentle  hand  over  her  mouth.  The 
girl,  looking  at  Anthony,  burst  suddenly  into  loud 
and  hysterical  weeping! 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  shut  her  up!"  gasped  the 
master  of  the  apartment. 

"You  started  her — it  was  the  way  you  looked 
at  her!"  David  said  thickly. 

"Well,  you  stop  her  or  I'll  wring  your  neck!" 
Anthony  panted.  "You  can  hear  that  over  half 
the  house." 

He  turned  his  eye  back  to  the  unfortunate  and 
froze  her  into  sudden  silence.  Shaking,  the  girl 
crouched  closer  to  David  Prentiss,  and  Anthony 
drew  breath  once  more. 

It  was  a  horrible  thing  that  had  happened,  of 
course — this  coming  of  a  strange  woman  into  his 
apartment.  It  was  likely  to  take  a  good  deal  of 
explaining  to  the  management  of  the  Lasande, 
too,  later  on.  But  he  had  brought  it  upon  him- 
self, and  the  realization  caused  Anthony's  white 
fury  to  glow. 


THE  WEE  SMA'  HOURS  931 

"This — this  woman  is  a  friend  of  yours?"  he 
choked. 

"One  of  the — best  friends  I  have !"  David  fal- 
tered. 

"How  does  she  come  to  be  here?" 

"I — I  sent  for  her,"  David  confessed.  "I  tele- 
phoned and "  , 

"All  right.  That's  enough,"  Anthony  Fry  said, 
composure  returning  in  some  degree.  "Can  she 
speak  English?" 

"Not  one  word." 

'Positively,"  the  master  of  the  apartment  said 
slowly,  "the  thing  to  do  is  to  have  you  both  ar- 
rested, David.  Don't  start  like  that  and  don't 
speak!  There  is  a  certain  presumption  that  this 
woman  is  some  sort  of  accomplice,  David — 
not  much,  perhaps,  but  one  strong  enough  to 
hold  you  until  both  of  you  had  learned  a  les- 
son!" 

David,  himself,  white  to  the  lips,  was  beyond 
words. 

"Nevertheless,"  Anthony  pursued,  only  a  trifle 
more  gently,  "I  shall  go  to  no  such  length,  because 
of  the  character  of  the  house  and  the  personal 
reflection  such  a  mess  would  cast  upon  myself. 


94  IN  AND  OUT 

Tell  the  woman  to  go,  David,  and  then  you  and 
I  will  have  a  little  chat." 

"But "  David  whispered. 

"Tell  her  to  go  this  instant!"  Anthony  thun- 
dered. 

The  boy  in  the  oversize  bathrobe  looked  at 
his  girl  friend  with  stricken  eyes — looked  at  An- 
thony for  an  instant,  and  turned  away  as  swiftly. 
He  swallowed,  and,  lips  trembling,  addressed  the 
little  French  girl;  and  she  started  from  him  and 
threw  out  her  hands  in  horror,  pouring  out  a  tor- 
rent of  words.  David  spoke  again,  however,  and 
she  rose,  swaying. 

"Show  the  woman  to  the  door,  Wilkins,  and 
to  the  back  stairs,"  Anthony  ordered,  restraining 
himself  with  a  considerable  effort.  "Be  sure  she 
doesn't  go  near  the  elevators.  Quick!" 

David  spoke  again,  in  French  and  in  a  strange, 
low,  forlorn  wail.  The  girl,  as  if  at  an  eternal 
parting,  thrust  out  the  expressive  hands  once  more 
and  gurgled  hysterical  Gallic  snatches;  and  then 
Wilkins  had  laid  a  hand  on  her  shoulder,  turned 
her  about,  and  she  was  gone. 

Johnson  Boiler  looked  after  tKem  and  at  his 
old  friend. 


THE  WEE  SMA'  HOURS  95 

"Aren't  you  going  to  send  the  youngster  after 
her?"  he  asked  with  the  superior  air  of  a  man 
who  has  proved  his  case  beyond  a  doubt. 

"Quite  possibly,"  Anthony  said,  smiling  a  dan- 
gerous little  smile.  "But  I  mean  to  have  a  chat 
with  David  first" 

Johnson  Boiler  gazed  at  David  for  a  moment 
and  smiled  himself,  almost  happily.  Unless  in- 
dications were  highly  deceptive,  Anthony,  with 
his  precious  reputation  all  mussed  up  by  the  pretty 
little  French  girl,  was  mad  enough  to  beat  up 
David. 

But  Johnson  Boiler  had  no  idea  of  sitting  around 
and  watching  it,  later  to  waste  days  in  a  police 
court  for  David's  wretched  sake.  Hence  he 
thumped  out  of  David's  room  and  back  to  his 
own. 

Alone  with  his  find,  Anthony  said  not  a  word 
for  a  full  minute,  nor  did  David.  The  boy, 
hunched  on  the  edge  of  his  bed,  had  passed  the 
capability  of  motion  and  even  of  thought;  he 
merely  stared  at  Anthony  with  dazed,  thunder- 
struck eyes  that  were  very  far  from  being  intelli- 
gent. 

"David,"    Anthony   said    savagely,    "however 


96  IN  AND  OUT 

slightly  unusual  the  circumstances  may  have  been, 
I  brought  you  to  this  apartment  for  your  own 
good." 

"Urn,"  David  said  numbly. 

"And  last  night  I  laid  down  for  you  the  rule 
that  you  were  to  have  no  women  here." 

David  said  nothing  at  all. 

"Yet  even  before  we've  dressed  this  morning, 
you  manage  to  worm  an  infernal  woman  in  here 
and — what  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  it,  anyway, 
you  infernal  little  whelp?"  Anthony  cried,  as  his 
temper  snapped.  "Don't  sit  there  and  shiver! 
Answer  me!" 

Still  David  said  nothing. 

"Answer  or  I'll  shake  some  wits  into  you!" 
Anlhony  cried. 

And  by  way  of  doing  this  he  seized  David's 
thick  brown  hair  and  gave  a  first,  threatening 
shake. 

And  having  shaken — Anthony  Fry,  the  chilly 
and  self-contained,  emitted  one  rattling,  half- 
shrieking  gasp  and  reeled  backward! 


CHAPTER  VI 
JOHNSON  BOLLER  PROPOSES 

THE  whole  head  of  brown  hair  had  come 
free  in  his  hand,  and  from  David's 
cranium,  billow  upon  billow  of  red-gold 
glory  floated  down  about  the  bathrobed  shoulders. 

David,  in  fine,  with  no  warning  at  all,  had 
turned  into  a  decidedly  pretty  young  woman ! 

Through  Anthony's  astounded  brain,  impres- 
sions pursued  one  another  so  rapidly,  those  first 
few  seconds,  that  the  room  danced  crazily.  There 
were  two  or  three  Davids  and  oceans  of  reddish- 
gold  hair;  there  were  several  pairs  of  somber, 
deep-blue  eyes  as  well,  whirling  around  and  mock- 
ing him,  regarding  his  quite  steadily  and  all  packed 
with  new  significance. 

Yet  in  the  tumult  several  details,  which  had 
rather  puzzled  Anthony  Fry,  grew  painfully  clear. 
Very  fully  now  did  he  understand  that  delicacy 
of  feature — the  small,  beardless  chin  and  the  fine, 

97 


98  IN  AND  OUT 

regular  little  nose,  which  he  had  ascribed  to  good 
blood  somewhere  in  David's  family.  He  under- 
stood also  the  slenderness  of  David's  hands  and  the 
curious,  high-pitched  shrillness  that  had  come  into 
the  voice  once  or  twice  in  moments  of  excitement. 

But  these  were  minor,  insignificant  realizations; 
he  understood  them  and  passed  them,  forcing  his 
brain  to  some  sort  of  calm;  and  now,  with  only 
one  David  in  the  room  and  the  furniture  quite 
steady  again,  he  stood  face  to  face  with  what  was 
really  one  of  the  most  horrible  facts  of  his  whole 
life;  a  pretty  young  woman,  of  whose  identity  he 
was  utterly  ignorant,  was  in  his  guest  chamber 
now,  in  pajamas  and  bathrobe — and  she  had  been 
there  all  night! 

Out  of  Anthony's  limp  fingers  the  wig  dropped, 
landing  on  the  floor  with  a  soft  thump.  He  sought 
to  speak  and  found  that  words  would  not  come 
as  yet;  he  gripped  at  one  of  the  little  chairs  and 
presently  discovered  that  his  weak  knees  had  low- 
ered him  into  it,  so  that  he  sat  and  still  stared 
at  David  and 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  kick  that  wig  around," 
said  his  guest.  "I  only  hired  it  for  the  night,  you 
know." 


JOHNSON  ROLLER  PROPOSES      99 

The  owner  of  Fry's  Imperial  Liniment  pulled 
at  the  loose  collar  of  his  pajamas. 

"You — er — you "  he  said  intelligently. 

"I  wouldn't  faint,"  the  girl  said  coolly.  "I'm 
not  going  to  bite  you,  you  know.  And  please 
don't  make  those  silly  faces,  either,  Mr.  Fry. 
You've  brought  it  on  yourself.  I'm  not  here  by 
my  own  choosing.  I've  done  my  level  best  to  get 
out  and " 

Anthony's  voice  returned  explosively. 

"Why,"  he  cried  thickly,  "why  didn't  you  tell 
me?" 

"That  I  was  a  girl?" 

"Yes!" 

The  lovely  little  mystery  had  kicked  off  her 
slippers  and  was  looking  pensively  at  her  bare 
feet.  They  were  pink  and  tiny;  as  feet,  however, 
they  belonged  anywhere  in  the  world  but  in  An- 
thony Fry's  bachelor  home,  and  he  turned  sud- 
denly from  them  and  looked  at  their  owner,  who 
smiled  faintly. 

"You  look  a  lot  saner  when  you're  scared,"  she 
mused. 

"Why  didn't " 

"I'm  coming  to  that,  just  because  you  do  look 


ioo  IN  AND  OUT 

*aner,"  the  girl  explained.  "I  didn't  tell  you  be- 
cause I  didn't  dare.  I  thought  you  were  crazy." 

"What?" 

"Who  wouldn't,  when  you  were  talking  that 
way  about  opportunity  and  insisting  that  I  stay 
here  and  all  that  sort  of  thing?"  the  young  woman 
inquired  tartly.  "It  was  plain  enough  that  you 
were  a  crank,  at  the  best  of  it,  and  I  didn't  know 
— well,  it  seemed  better  to  take  a  chance  of  getting 
out  during  the  night." 

Second  by  second,  normal  cerebration  was  re- 
turning to  Anthony,  and  although  it  caused  him 
to  grow  colder  and  colder  with  plain  apprehension 
it  also  rendered  his  perspective  more  true,  for  he 
burst  out  with 

"Why  in  Heaven's  name  did  you,  a  girl,  ever 
come  here  in  the  first  place?" 

"What?"  The  girl  smiled  flittingly  and  rue- 
fully. "Oh,  there  was  a  reason  for  that,  too." 

"What  was  it?" 

She  of  the  Titian  hair  eyed  him  thoughtfully 
and  shook  her  head. 

"Perhaps  I'll  tell  you  some  other  time,"  she 
said. 

"Why  not  now?"  Anthony  snapped. 


JOHNSON  BOLLER  PROPOSES 

"You  wouldn't  be  any  happier  for  knowing, 
just  now,"  the  girl  said  mysteriously. 

Her  pajamaed  legs,  swathed  in  the  mighty  bath- 
robe, crossed  comfortably  Turkish  fashion,  and 
she  considered  Anthony  with  her  calm,  quizzical 
eyes — and  of  a  sudden  an  overwhelming  helpless- 
ness surged  through  Anthony  Fry  and  he  had 
more  than  a  little  difficulty  in  concealing  the  slight 
tremble  of  his  limbs. 

For  if  the  boy  David  had  been  a  nervous, 
frightened  creature,  the  lady  who  had  succeeded 
him  was  almost  anything  else!  David  had  been 
timorous  and  given  to  shrinking;  the  girl  was  all 
quiet  assurance.  David's  eyes  had  been  frightened 
and  round;  these  eyes  were  just  as  round,  but,  as 
much  as  anything  else,  they  seemed  to  express  mild 
amusement  at  Anthony's  discomfiture. 

And  that  was  the  way  of  the  whole  sex,  An- 
thony reflected  bitterly.  Having  enmeshed  mere 
man  and  entangled  him,  hands,  feet,  and  every- 
thing else,  it  was  woman's  habit  to  sit  and  stare 
calmly,  just  as  this  one  was  sitting  and  staring, 
wordlessly  inquiring  just  what  he  meant  to  do 
about  it. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  asked  dizzily. 


102  IN  AND  OUT 

"Urn,"  said  the  girl  meditatively.  "Well,  if 
you  find  it  necessary  to  call  me  anything,  call  me — 
er — Mary." 

"Mary  what?" 

"Just  Mary." 

"But  your  other  name " 

"You  wouldn't  be  any  happier  for  knowing  that 
either,"  the  girl  assured  him  serenely. 

"What  on  earth  does  that  mean?"  Anthony 
demanded,  with  almost  a  return  of  his  old  im- 
perious manner. 

Mary  gazed  fixedly  at  him  for  a  moment, 
deeply  and  inscrutably  and  with  that  in  her  eyes 
which,  although  he  could  not  name  it,  caused  An- 
thony's chilly  blood  to  drop  several  more  degrees. 

"Don't  ask  me  what  it  means,  because  I  might 
tell  you,  and  you  wouldn't  be  any  happier  for 
knowing  that!"  the  girl  said  quietly. 

"But  the  Frenchwoman?"  Anthony  essayed, 
lunging  off  in  another  direction.  "Who  was  she?" 

"Well,  she  was  my  personal  maid — at  least  it 
won't  hurt  you  to  know  that  much,"  Mary  dim- 
pled. "I  sent  for  her  and  asked  her  to  bring  my 
bag  and — there's  the  bag." 

One  pink  foot  indicated  it,  and  for  many  seconds 


JOHNSON  ROLLER  PROPOSES     103 

Anthony's  dumfounded  eyes  stared  at  the  thing. 
There  was  an  intricate  monogram  on  one  end, 
which  he  could  not  decipher;  otherwise,  it  im- 
pressed him.  The  bag  was  a  very,  very  expensive 
bit  of  luggage  and  his  failing  heart  thumped  a 
trifle  harder. 

No  stray  young  woman  owns  a  bag  like  that 
and  a  French  maid  to  carry  it  around;  no  adven- 
turous female  waif  of  the  type  one  might  expect 
to  find  wandering  about  in  masculine  raiment 
speaks  in  the  unquestionably  cultivated  tone  that 
Mary  was  using  now.  And  no  clear-eyed,  clear- 
skinned  young  female  friend  of  Mary's  type  ever 
belonged  to  the  demi-monde! 

Mary  was  a  person  of  parts  and  position.  How 
she  had  appeared  at  the  fight,  Anthony,  if  he  had 
wonderful  luck,  might  never  learn;  but  the  fact 
remained  that  he  had  detained  her  against  her 
will  in  his  apartment,  and  possibilities  loomed  so 
swiftly  and  numerous  before  his  mental  vision 
that  his  throat  tightened. 

"You — you're  a  respectable  youn^  woman  I"  he 
said  hoarsely. 

"Thank  you,  unquestionably,"  Mary  smiled 
dryly. 


104  IN  AND  OUT 

"And — er — as  such,  the  thing  to  do  is  to  get 
you  out  of  here  as  quickly  and  as  inconspicuously 
as  possible." 

"I've  been  trying  to  get  out  inconspicuously 
myself,"  Mary  suggested. 

Anthony  rose  and  his  sickly  smile  appeared 
again. 

"I  can — can  only  apologize  and  assume  all  the 
blame,"  he  said  unsteadily.  "I  will  have  Wilkins 
bring  you  your  clothes,  and  as  soon  as  you  are 
dressed  we  will " 

"You  mean  those  men's  clothes?"  Mary  asked 
sharply. 

"Of  course." 

"And  go  out  in  them  in  daylight?" 

"Certainly." 

"I  wouldn't  do  that  for  an  even  million  dol- 
lars!" Mary  informed  him. 

"But  you'll  have  to  do  that!"  said  Anthony. 

"But  I  will  not  have  to  do  it,  because  I  won't 
do  it!"  the  girl  said  flatly  and  with  considerable 
warmth.  "Why,  every  man,  woman,  and  child 
in  the  street  would  know,  the  very  second  they 
looked  at  me,  and  I — oh,  no!  I  won't  do  that!" 

"There's  nothing  else  to  do!"  Anthony  cried 


JOHNSON  BOLLER  PROPOSES     10$ 

desperately.  "You — er — you  don't  understand 
this  hotel,  young  woman.  A  woman  seen  leaving 
one  of  these  apartments  and  going  out  of  the 

house,  more  especially  at  this  time  of  the  day — 
er » 

He  flushed  angrily. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Mary  said  helpfully.  "But 
I'm  not  going  out  in  those  clothes  if  I  stay  here 
and  die  of  old  age." 

And  here,  from  the  end  of  the  corridor,  John- 
son Boiler's  deep,  carrying  voice  came: 

"Has  he  kicked  the  kid  out  yet,  Wilkins?" 

"Not  yet,  sir,"  said  Wilkins's  grave  tone. 

"What?  Is  he  going  to  keep  him  here  after 
all?" 

"I  should  judge  so,  sir.  There's  been  no  dis- 
turbance down  that  way." 

"Well,  what,"  Johnson  Boiler  muttered  audibly, 
"do  you  know  about  that?" 

"It's  most  distressing,  sir!"  Wilkins  replied. 

Anthony  Fry's  pupils  dilated. 

"He's  coming  down  here,  I  think!"  he  said. 
"Get  on  that  wig  again!" 

"Why?"  Mary  inquired,  pausing  in  the  process 
of  knotting  up  her  wonderful  hair. 


io6  IN  AND  OUT 

"Because  Boiler — Boiler "  Anthony  stam- 
mered wildly.  "There  is  no  need  of  his  knowing 
that  you're  a — a  young  woman,  now  or  in  future. 
I  am  speaking  for  your  own  sake,  you  know.  You 
may  meet  him  a  thousand  times  elsewhere  in  years 
to  come,  and  there's  a  mean  streak  in  Boiler 
which " 

"Is  there?"  Mary  asked,  with  what  was  really 
her  very  first  touch  of  concern  since  resuming  her 
proper  sex.  "Give  me  the  wig,  then." 

Fortunately,  at  the  living-room  end  of  the  cor- 
ridor, Johnson  Boiler  devoted  a  good  five  minutes 
to  meditation.  He  had  finished  his  usual  light- 
ning morning  tub  and  resumed  his  bathrobe  in 
a  more  cheerful  frame  of  mind,  quite  confident 
that  David  Prentiss  was  no  longer  in  their  midst. 
He  had  even  prepared  a  peppery  line  of  chaffing 
for  the  breakfast  table,  the  same  dealing  with 
the  visit  of  a  pretty  little  French  girl  to  the  irre- 
proachable apartment  and  the  various  methods 
by  which  Anthony  Fry  could  explain  the  matter 
to  the  management,  should  he  be  requested  to 
explain. 

Yet  David  was  still  with  them  and — if  quiet 
down  there  meant  anything — with  them  to  stay. 


JOHNSON  ROLLER  PROPOSES     107 

Anthony's  trouble  remained  with  him  this  morn- 
ing; even  now,  undoubtedly,  he  was  sitting  in 
there  and  hurling  opportunity  again  and  again  at 
David's  invulnerable  armor — and  if  the  idiotic 
idea  had  taken  as  firm  a  grip  as  that  the  end  might 
be  days  away,  just  as  it  had  been  in  the  case  of 
the  yeggmen. 

It  gibed  not  at  all  with  Boiler's  plans  for  his 
visit  to  Anthony.  He  caressed  his  chin  and 
scowled  for  a  little ;  later,  he  smiled  grimly.  After 
all,  there  are  more  ways  of  killing  a  cat  than  by 
drowning  the  animal  in  champagne — and  David 
was  a  tender  shoot  as  yet. 

Johnson  Boiler  flexed  his  muscles  and  examined 
his  smile  in  the  mirror.  It  was  a  broad,  genial 
expression,  all  warm  and  friendly;  and  without 
permitting  one  of  its  curves  to  slip  from  place  he 
strode  down  the  corridor  and  threw  open  the  door 
of  David  Prentiss's  chamber. 

Hunched  up  in  his  big  bathrobe,  the  boy  was 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  while  Anthony 
stood  across  the  room  with  his  back  wisely  to  the 
light.  It  was  entirely  plain  that  the  trouble  had 
gone  up  in  smoke  and  that  the  presumably  angry 
interview  had  flattened  out  to  a  love  feast;  David 


io8  IN  AND  OUT 

had  not  been  and,  so  far  as  concerned  Anthony, 
would  not  be  ejected — yet  instead  of  protesting 
Johnson  Boiler  said  jovially: 

"Licked  him  into  shape,  eh?" 

"Ah — David  has  explained,"  Anthony  man- 
aged. 

"Got  the  trouble  all  smoothed  over,  eh?" 

"Yes." 

Johnson  Boiler  laughed  mightily  and  winked  at 
David.  Further,  he  stepped  over  and  slapped 
David's  back — no  mere  friendly  tap,  but  a  whack 
that  nearly  sent  him  from  the  bed. 

"Who  was  the  squab,  kid?"  he  cried. 
"Who " 

"Don't  hit  him  like  that!"  Anthony  gasped. 

"What?" 

"The  boy " 

"Tap  like  that  won't  hurt  him  !"  Johnson  Boiler 
chuckled  as  David,  suppressing  a  shriek,  managed 
to  grip  the  bed  and  regain  his  balance.  "Who 
was  the  Gallic  chicken,  my  lad?" 

"A — a  friend  of  mine,"  David  said  weakly. 

"I  betcher!"  said  Johnson  Boiler  significantly. 
"I  got  a  line  on  her  the  second  I  laid  eyes  on  her, 
kid.  Now,  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  You're 


JOHNSON  BOLLER  PROPOSES     109 

a  young  sport  and  these  things  look  different  to 
you  now,  but  the  long  and  the  short  of  a  dizzy 
little " 

"Johnson!"  Anthony  broke  in. 

"What  now?" 

"It — it  is  not  necessary  to  advise  David,"  said 
David's  captor,  quite  thickly,  for  he  was  familiar 
with  Johnson  Boiler's  views  on  many  subjects  and 
his  manner  of  airing  them.  "The  boy  has — er — 
explained  the — ah — young  woman  and " 

He  could  get  no  farther.  Johnson  Boiler  eyed 
him  with  an  amused  and  quizzical  grin. 

"Going  to  keep  this  kid  with  you?" 

"For  a  time,  yes." 

"You  know,  you're  a  funny  character,  An- 
thony," Boiler  mused.  "If  your  great-grand- 
mother came  to  this  joint  to  have  a  cup  of  tea 
with  you,  you'd  want  her  to  stop  at  the  desk  and 
show  her  pedigree  and  the  family  Bible,  just  so 
they'd  be  sure  she  was  your  great-grandmother, 
and  your  lovely  reputation  wouldn't  have  a  spot 
of  suspicion  on  it  as  big  as  a  pinpoint.  But  you  go 
and  rake  this  kid  off  the  streets  and  when  his 

lady  friends  come  in Where  did  she  come 

from,  kid,  and  how  did  she  get  up  here?" 


no  IN  AND  OUT 

His  smile  broadened  happily  as  he  observed 
that  David  had  not  yet  ceased  wiggling  his  back 
in  search  of  broken  bones. 

"I  explained  all  that  to  Mr.  Fry,"  David  said 
rather  sulkily. 

"I  know,  Davy,  but  that  doesn't  count  for  any- 
thing," Mr.  Boiler  chuckled.  "You  see,  Mr. 
Fry's  a  bachelor — has  been  all  his  life  and  expects 
to  be  if  he  lives  to  be  a  hundred.  What  he  doesn't 
know  about  females  in  general  would  fill  a  string 
of  libraries  from  here  to  Battery  Park  and  half 
way  across  to  Staten  Island. 

"You've  probably  told  him  the  squab  was  your 
sister  and  he  fell  and  said  what  a  pretty  sister 
she  was.  But  as  for  me,  Dave — you  couldn't  put 
that  stuff  over  if  you  tried  a  month.  I'm  the 
original  specialist  in  everything  female;  I've  got 
a  kind  of  sixth  sense  that  tells  me  all  about  them 
before  I've  even  seen  'em  and  after  I've  looked 
at  'em  once  I  can  tell  you  where  they  were  three 
weeks  ago  last  Saturday  night.  You  can't  fool  me 
when  it  comes  to  women." 

"Well,    now,    suppose    we    drop    the    subject 

and "  Anthony  began  agitatedly. 

"Let  me  slip  this  kid  some  real  advice,"  said 


JOHNSON  ROLLER  PROPOSES     in 

Mr.  Boiler.  "Davy,  I  know  all  sorts  of  women — 
good  and  bad  and  the  kind  you  think  are  all 
right,  but  aren't!  Get  me?  You're  only  a  boy, 
and  offhand  I'd  say  that  this  French  damsel  be- 
longed in  the  latter  class.  At  a  guess,  you  met 
her " 

"Stop!"  cried  Anthony  Fry  in  pure  terror. 

Johnson  Boiler  gazed  mildly  at  him. 

"If  you're  going  to  adopt  this  kid,  Anthony, 
you  might  better  let  me  put  him  wise  to  some  of 
his  past  mistakes  and  tell  him  how  to  avoid  'em 
in  his  new  life.  I  don't  know  what  lie  he  put  over 
on  you,  but  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  the 
just-right  kind  of  boy  isn't  receiving  mysterious 
calls  before  seven  in  the  morning  from  a  highly 
affectionate " 

"Stop!"  gasped  Anthony.  "Whatever — what- 
ever advice  David  needs  I  shall  give  him  myself  1" 

Johnson  Boiler  sighed  and  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, as  if  casting  aside  a  responsibility  he  had 
assumed  only  because  of  a  strong  sense  of  duty. 
It  was  a  little  disappointing,  because  he  had  figured 
fully  on  rousing  David — who  must  be  a  white- 
livered,  spiritless  little  whelp,  by  the  way — and 
having  David  rush  to  the  defense  of  his  mysterious 


ii2  IN  AND  OUT 

lady.  He  had  counted  fully  on  David's  voice 
rising  and  then  upon  raising  his  own,  in  spectacular 
anger,  so  that  a  real  noisy  rumpus  would  develop 
in  Anthony's  flat  and  send  David's  stock  a  little 
farther  down. 

Instead,  he  had  only  roused  Anthony;  and  An- 
thony certainly  was  a  curious  cuss,  when  one  came 
to  think  of  it!  He  was  standing  over  there  now, 
almost  dead  white,  not  trembling  but  looking  as 
if  he  would  like  to  tremble  with  rage. 

And  for  what? 

Because,  ostensibly,  his  oldest  friend  had  tried 
to  advise  the  boy  he  had  snatched  from  a  prize- 
fight. Johnson  Boiler  shook  his  head.  That 
opportunity  business  had  been  queer,  but  still  it 
had  been  quite  like  Anthony  in  his  eccentric  mo- 
ments— but  this  continuation  of  the  queerness  was 
bad!  Before  sixty,  Anthony  Fry  would  have 
settled  down  in  some  nice,  comfortable  sanitarium. 

These  things,  however,  were  not  the  moment's 
chief  concern.  It  behooved  Johnson  Boiler  to  try 
the  second  section  of  his  hasty  little  plan,  if  David 
were  to  be  ousted  from  the  flat.  Hence,  he  al- 
lowed his  benevolent,  genial  grin  to  return;  he 
flashed  it  upon  Anthony  and  then  upon  the  boy. 


JOHNSON  BOLLER  PROPOSES     113 

"As  you  please,"  said  he,  "although  I  don't 
know  how  much  good  he'll  get  out  of  the  kind  of 
advice  you're  able  to  give  him.  However — that's 
your  lookout.  Going  to  turn  him  into  a  man, 
eh?" 

"Yes,"  Anthony  said  thickly. 

Johnson  Boiler  yawned,  by  way  of  demonstrat- 
ing unconcern. 

"Well,  kid,  it's  pretty  soft  for  you,  but  since 
Mr.  Fry's  determined  on  the  job  I'll  be  around 
for  the  first  month  to  offer  whatever  assistance 
may  be  within  my  power,"  said  he.  "Good  meals 
— early  hours — regular  habits — all  that  sort  of 
thing.  And  then,  of  course,  a  proper  amount  of 
athletic  work  to  keep  you  fit." 

"Yes,"  David  agreed. 

"Don't  be  so  hellish  surly  about  it,"  smiled 
Mr.  Boiler.  "How  are  you,  David — pretty 
athletic?" 

"Athletic  enough,"  David  submitted. 

"That  means,  I  suppose,  that  you  never  raise 
a  hand  unless  somebody  pays  you  to  do  it.  That'll 
never  do,  boy.  Regular,  scientific  training  means 
everything  to  a  man  who  wants  to  keep  his 
health.  Look  at  me  I  Ten  years  ago  I  weighed 


ii4  IN  AND  OUT 

fifty  pounds  more  than  I  do  now — sick  half  the 
time  and  disgusted  with  life  the  other  half.  I  got 
over  it  and  to-day  I  feel  like  a  two-year-old.  What 
did  it?" 

David  was  looking  at  Anthony. 

"Exercise  did  it!"  stated  Johnson  Boiler. 
"Stand  up  here?" 

"What  for?"  David  asked  quickly. 

"I'm  going  to  teach  the  first  principles  of  bound- 
ing health  to  you." 

"If  David  needs  any  training,  it  can  be  arranged 
for  later,"  Anthony  put  in  hastily.  "You  see, 
Johnson,  "although " 

"Anthony,"  his  friend  interrupted  firmly, 
"you'll  have  to  pardon  me,  but  there  are  some 
things  about  which  you  know  no  more  than  an 
unborn  kitten  and  one  of  them  is  physical  training. 
I,  on  the  other  hand,  have  paid  out  about  five 
thousand  dollars  to  different  specialists,  and 
what  I  don't  know  about  keeping  fit  hasn't 
been  discovered  yet.  You  do  your  share  for 
the  kid  and  I'll  do  mine,  and  later  on  he'll 
thank  me  more  than  he  does  you.  Stand  up, 
David." 

"But " 


JOHNSON  BOLLER  PROPOSES     115 

"Stand  up  and  I'll  show  you  the  elementary 
ideas  of  boxing,"  smiled  Johnson  Boiler.  "Come ! 
Don't  be  a  mollycoddle  I" 

He  waited,  fists  clenched  loosely,  smiling  art- 
lessly— although  it  was  a  bitter,  cowardly  thing 
that  was  in  his  heart. 

Johnson  Boiler,  be  it  admitted,  intended  to  beat 
up  David  Prentiss;  with  the  youngster's  good 
as  his  shallow  pretext,  he  meant  to  bruise 
David's  young  anatomy — and  when  this  bruis- 
ing was  over  to  contrive  another  occasion  and 
bruise  it  further — and  after  that  to  discover 
additional  excuses  and  continue  the  bruising — 
until  David  Prentiss  should  flee  the  flat  in  sheer 
terror. 

Hence,  he  smiled  again  and  said: 

"Come,  kidl  Come!  Stand  up  or  I'll  soak 
you  right  there!" 

"Johnson!"  Anthony  said  sharply. 

"Like  that!"  said  Johnson  Boiler,  jabbing  sud- 
denly before  the  protest  could  take  form. 

And  now  Anthony  cried  aloud,  for  the  boy  had 
toppled  over  backward — and  almost  immediately 
Anthony's  teeth  shut  with  a  click.  Because  young 
David,  eyes  flashing,  had  bounced  up  again  and 


n6  IN  AND  OUT 

was  on  his  feet.  One  of  his  small  fists,  tight  shut, 
had  whisked  out  and  met  Johnson  Boiler's  coun- 
tenance with  a  loud  crack. 

And  Mr.  Boiler,  expelling  his  breath  with  an 
amazed  hiss,  had  lost  his  balance  and  was  sitting 
on  the  floor ! 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  BUTTERFLY 

ONE  bad  feature  of  having  passed  one's 
earlier  days  in  the  remote  fastnesses  of 
New  England,  in  the  era  before  the  auto- 
mobile and  the  telephone  came  to  complicate  life, 
is  that  one's  ideas  of  womanhood  are  likely  to  be 
definite  and  rooted. 

Part  of  Anthony's  boyhood  had  been  spent  in 
a  Massachusetts  hamlet  nine  miles  from  the  near- 
est railroad,  and  at  forty-five  he  had  not  fully 
recovered  from  some  of  the  effects. 

Even  after  decades  of  New  York,  Anthony's 
notion  of  woman  embodied  a  prim  creature,  rather 
given  to  talking  of  her  sorrows,  able  to  faint 
prettily  on  occasion,  and,  unless  born  to  the 
coarser  form  life,  a  little  fatigued  after  dusting 
the  parlor. 

She  was  a  creature,  lovely  and  delicate,  who 
played  croquet  as  the  extreme  of  exercise  and  never 


jz&  IN  AND  OUT 

even  watched  more  violent  sports.  She  did  not 
golf;  she  did  not  swim  or  shoot.  She  was,  in  a 
word,  one  hundred  per  cent,  feminine — and  about 
the  most  scandalous  thing  that  could  be  suggested 
about  her  was  that  she  savored,  even  one  per 
cent.,  of  the  masculine. 

So,  while  another  type  of  citizen,  possessed  of 
all  the  facts,  might  have  thrown  up  his  hands  in 
glee  and  laughed  merrily  at  the  sight  of  Johnson 
Boiler  sitting  there  on  the  floor,  Anthony  Fry 
merely  stood  frozen. 

Minute  by  minute,  he  was  understanding  more 
fully  just  what  manner  of  individual  his  insistence 
had  inducted  into  his  chaste  home.  She  was  a 
female  in  sex  only !  She  was  no  timid  little  thing, 
swooning  and  weeping  at  her  terrible  predica- 
ment; she  was  the  sort  that  dons  trousers  and 
goes  to  prize-fights — but  what  was  infinitely 
worse,  if  one  judged  by  that  resounding  whack, 
she  was  herself  a  prize-fighter! 

Anthony,  you  see,  was  a  mild  enthusiast  about 
the  fighting  game;  when  he  saw  a  genuine  short- 
arm  jab  he  recognized  it  instantly. 

'And  going  further — for  he  could  not  help  doing 
that — what  was  to  be  the  end  of  the  mess?  Last 


THE  BUTTERFLY  119 

night,  could  his  addled  head  but  have  permitted 
it,  she  would  have  gone  away  gladly  as  a  boy. 
Now  that  the  truth  was  out,  she  was  making  no 
effort  to  escape;  far  worse,  just  at  this  minute, 
she  seemed  bent  on  continuing  the  fistic  battle,  for 
she  stood  and  fairly  glared  down  at  Johnson 
Boiler. 

Ten  seconds  had  passed  since  the  resounding 
thump  which  proclaimed  that  heavy  gentleman's 
meeting  with  the  floor,  and  still  he  had  not  risen. 
Five  of  them  he  spent  in  staring  blankly  up  at 
David;  three  he  spent  in  gathering  a  scowl;  the 
final  two  found  his  plump  countenance  turning  to 
an  angry  red — and  Johnson  Boiler  was  struggling 
to  his  feet,  breathing  hard. 

"Say,  kid "  he  began  gustily  and  threaten- 
ingly. 

Anthony  Fry  came  to  life  and,  with  a  bound, 
was  between  them. 

"Let  this  thing  stop  right  here,  Johnson!"  he 
said  ringingly.  "No  more  of  it — do  you  under- 
stand? No  more!" 

"No  more,  your  eye!"  panted  Johnson  Boiler. 
"Get  out  of  the  way  before  I  knock  you  out !" 

"Johnson,  I  refuse  to  permit  you "  Anthony 


120  IN  AND  OUT 

cried,  and  with  both  lean  hands  pushed  back  on 
Mr.  Boiler's  heaving  chest. 

"Look  here,  Anthony,"  said  Johnson  Boiler, 
with  plainly  forced  calm ;  "when  a  dirty  little  gut- 
tersnipe like  that  hits  me  a  foul  blow,  something 
happens!" 

"There  wasn't  anything  foul  about  that  blow," 
David  said  calmly.  "That  was  a  nice  clean  jab, 
and  nothing  like  the  one  you  gave  me  without 
warning  and  while  I  was  sitting  down." 

"That's  enough,  David!"  Anthony  said. 

"He  started  it,"  David  submitted. 

Anthony  pushed  on.  Johnson  Boiler  was 
against  the  bureau  now — had  been  there  for  some 
seconds,  indeed — and  his  expression  was  chang- 
ing. Young  David,  to  be  sure,  had  rendered  him 
slightly  ridiculous  for  a  bit,  but  getting  mad 
about  it  was  not  likely  to  help  in  eliminating 
David. 

"It's  all  right,  Anthony,"  Mr.  Boiler  said  with 
a  sudden  grim  smile.  "Don't  shove  me  through 
the  wall.  I  won't  hurt  the  kid." 

"You'll  not  lay  hands  on  him?" 

"No." 

"That's  a  promise?" 


THE  BUTTERFLY  121 

"Why,  of  course  it  is!"  Johnson  Boiler  said 
heartily. 

Anthony  Fry  heaved  a  great,  shaky  sigh  and 
stood  back.  It  had  not  happened  that  time. 
David's  wig  was  still  in  place,  and  David  was  still 
David.  Yet,  all  other  things  apart,  what  if 
David's  wig  had  slipped?  What  if,  during  the 
thirty  or  forty  years  he  still  had  to  live,  Anthony 
must  have  cut  out  Johnson  Boiler's  really  stimu- 
lating friendship,  or  have  listened,  day  in  and 
day  out,  night  in  and  night  out,  at  every  meeting 
and  on  every  sly  occasion,  to  a  recital  of  what 
had  happened  this  morning? 

The  strain  was  really  growing  too  much.  John- 
son Boiler  would  have  to  get  out  of  here  now 
and — although  why  was  Johnson  Boiler  smiling 
so  sweetly? 

"Quite  a  little  boxer,  kid,  aren't  you?"  he  was 
asking  in  the  most  friendly  fashion. 

"I've  boxed  with  my  brother,"  David  said. 

"Made  a  study  of  it,  eh?" 

"So-so,"  said  David. 

They  were  going  to  have  a  little  conversation 
now,  which  gave  Anthony  a  minute  or  two  for 
thought.  First  he  would  get  Johnson  Boiler  out 


122  IN  AND  OUT 

of  here  on  the  plea  that  it  was  time  to  dress; 
then  he  would  have  David's  man-clothes  brought, 
and,  in  one  way  or  another,  he  would  persuade 
David  to  don  them.  It  could  be  worked,  the 
calmer  Anthony  assured  himself,  and  then — 

"Well,  if  you're  inclined  that  way,  there's  noth- 
ing like  keeping  in  shape  for  it,"  Mr.  Boiler  was 
saying  as  he  fumbled  at  the  knot  of  his  bathrobe. 
'Til  show  you  my  back  muscles  and  then  show 
you  how " 

"Johnson!"  Anthony  exploded. 

"Well,  what  in  the  name  of  common  sense  is 
the  matter  with  you?"  Mr.  Boiler  cried. 

"I — that  is  to  say,  David — your  confounded 
back  muscles  don't  interest  him,  Johnson.  Not 
one  particle  I  Do  they,  David?" 

"Not  a  bit  1"  David  said  faintly  from  the  corner 
toward  which  he  was  backing. 

"So  let  this  physical-training  rot  restl"  cried 
the  master  of  the  apartment.  "Go  and  dress 
and " 

"My  dear  fellow,"  Johnson  Boiler  broke  in 
mildly,  "you  are,  so  far  as  physical  training  goes, 
a  nice  old  lady.  But  for  Heaven's  sake,  if  you're 
going  to  keep  this  boy,  don't  try  to  bring  him  up 


THE  BUTTERFLY  123 

along  similar  lines.  Go  look  over  your  bean-pole 
anatomy,  and  you'll  need  no  further  argument. 
This  kid  is  young  and  supple,  and  fit  to  be  whacked 
into  a  real  man  and — say,  get  out  of  here  for 
fifteen  minutes,  Anthony,  will  you?" 

"Why?" 

"I'm  going  to  strip  this  youngster  and  look  him 
over,  and  then  start  him  on  the  right  track,"  Mr. 
Boiler  said  with  an  unconscious  and  affectionate 
glance  at  his  fist. 

"Mr.  Fry!"  gasped  David. 

"Well,  has  this  mollycoddle  stuff  in  the  air  in- 
fected you,  too?"  Johnson  Boiler  asked  tartly. 
"Don't  you  want  to  be  a  man?" 

"No!" 

Johnson  Boiler  laughed  scornfully. 

"Anthony,  I  think  your  presence  is  a  bad  in- 
fluence," he  said.  "Will  you  please  get  out  of 
here?  Shed  that  bathrobe,  kid,  and  let's  see  if 
there's  anything  to  you  but  pulp!" 

"No!"  said  David. 

"Well,  I  say  yes,  and  I  say  it  for  your  own 
good!"  Johnson  Boiler  said  firmly  as  he  advanced. 
"I'm  going  to  make  a  man  of  you!" 

"You  can't!"  said  David  thinly. 


124  IN  AND  OUT 

"I  can,  boy!  Believe  me,  I  can!"  Mr.  Boiler 
smiled.  "Get  out  of  that  robe!" 

He  was  advancing.  Ten  seconds  more  and  he 
would  lay  violent  hands  on  David,  and  Anthony 
Fry,  with  a  wrench  that  racked  his  very  soul, 
hurled  back  every  emotion  and  contrived  a  really 
quiet  smile.  More,  even;  when  he  spoke  it  was 
in  the  tone  of  one  merely  amused  and  slightly 
tried  in  patience. 

"You  mean  well,  old  chap,"  he  said,  laying  a 
firm  hand  on  Johnson  Boiler's  arm,  "but  you're 
a  crank  on  this  gymnastic  business.  Don't  be  ab- 
surd, please — you're  fairly  frightening  the  boy. 
Later  on,  perhaps,  when  he  is  more  accustomed 
to  you  and  the  surroundings,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  you  may  take  him  in  hand.  Just  now  it 
is  well  past  seven  o'clock,  and  I'm  hungry.  Come 
to  your  senses  and  get  dressed,  Johnson,  if  only 
as  a  favor." 

His  eye  was  firm  and  steady;  and  having  faced 
it  for  a  moment,  Johnson  Boiler  shrugged  his 
shoulders  again.  And  yet  he  had  not  inflicted 
even  one  bruise  on  David,  but  pressing  the  matter 
now  was  likely  to  do  no  more  than  excite  Anthony. 
And  there  was  still  time. 


THE  BUTTERFLY  125, 

As  head  of  his  particular  woolen  concern,  John- 
son Boiler  could  well  spend  the  whole  morning 
away  from  the  office,  so  that  it  gained  him  the 
chance  of  hammering  the  boy  to  a  jelly  and  oust- 
ing him  from  Johnson  Boiler's  temporary  home. 
Mr.  Boiler,  therefore,  sighed  a  little  in  disappoint- 
ment as  he  said:  • 

"If  you  insist.  I'd  rather  put  the  kid  through 
his  first  paces  naked,  of  course,  because  then 
one "  I 

"Yes,  some  other  time,  doubtless,"  Anthony 
said  hastily.  "Get  along  now,  Johnson  and  dress.'* 

They  were  alone  again,  Anthony  and  David. 

David's  color  was  decidedly  higher,  and  his 
eyes  burned  with  a  mixture  of  fright  and  indigna- 
tion, while  the  bathrobe  was  clutched  defensively 
about  his  throat.  Anthony  himself  had  lost  his 
pallor,  and  on  his  high,  thoughtful  forehead  a 
glistening  glaze  had  come  into  being.  He  dabbed 
it  away  with  his  handkerchief  and  glanced  fear- 
fully toward  the  door. 

"This  is  —  er  —  most  embarrassing  I"  he 
breathed. 

"It  is  for  me  I"  said  the  apparent  David. 
"What's  the  matter  with  that  man?" 


126  IN  AND  OUT 

"He  has  his  own  ideas  about  most  things," 
Anthony  said  with  a  shudder.  "However,  he  is 
out  of  the  way  now  and — er — the  next  thing  is 
to  get  you  out,  also." 

"Well?" 

"I  am  sorry,  Miss  Mary,  truly  sorry  if  it  dis- 
pleases you,"  Anthony  went  on  carefully;  "but 
there  is  really  only  one  way  for  you  to  leave  quite 
safely.  This  house,  you  see,  is  rather  different 
from  other  houses.  It  would  be  possible  to  send 
for  your — ah — proper  clothing  and  have  you 
leave  as  the  doubtless  prepossessing  young  woman 
that  you  are;  but  to  do  that  you  would  have  to 
pass  through  the  office  downstairs,  and  the  ele- 
vator men  would  know  that  you  came  from  this 
apartment." 

"Ah?"  said  Mary,  without  expression. 

"And  inasmuch  as  every  one  here  knows  that 
I'm  not  married,  and  that  I  have  no  female  rela- 
tives or  even  friends  of  your  age,  the — ah — very 
painful  inference " 

"I  see,"  said  Mary,  as  he  paused  and  flushed. 
"Go  on." 

She  was  not  exactly  helpful,  sitting  there  and 
staring  at  Anthony  with  her  great,  deep-blue  eyes. 


THE  BUTTERFLY  127 

They  were  very  beautiful  eyes,  doubtless,  but  they 
caused  Anthony's  mind  to  stagger  as  he  labored  on. 

"There  are  the  back  stairs,  of  course,  but  to 
pass  them  it  would  be  necessary  to  meet  servants 
and  employees  of  the  house  in  half  a  dozen  places; 
I  believe  there  is  even  a  gate-keeper  of  some  sort 
below  and — oh,  the  back  stairs  would  not  be  at 
all  possible !"  said  Anthony  as  he  pushed  the  but- 
ton for  Wilkins.  "I  deplore  the  necessity  of  send- 
ing you  out  as  you  came,  Miss  Mary,  but — er — 
Wilkins!  Mr.  Prentiss's  clothes,  if  you  please." 

"What  of  them,  sir?"  Wilkins  asked  blankly. 

"Bring  them  here." 

"But  I  can't  do  that,  Mr.  Fry." 

"Why  not?"  Anthony  asked  crisply. 

"You  told  me  to  dispose  of  them  last  night,  sir. 
I've  thrown  them  out!" 

Anthony  caught  his  breath. 

"Where  have  you  thrown  them?" 

"Out  with  the  other  refuse  of  the  day,  sir — on 
the  dumbwaiter." 

"Then — well,  never  mind.  That  is  all,  Wil- 
kins," said  Anthony  Fry,  his  voice  thickening 
somewhat. 

The  invaluable  one  retire'd,  with  a  last  disap- 


128  IN  AND  OUT 

proving  glance  at  the  frowsy  David,  and  Anthony's 
forehead  wrinkled.  David,  the  while,  sat  hunched 
on  the  bed  and  seemed  altogether  unaffected  by 
the  disaster. 

"Well,  you'll  have  to  make  the  best  of  some  of 
my  wardrobe,  I  fear,"  the  master  of  the  apart- 
ment smiled. 

"Yours?"  Mary  cried. 

"They  will  be  a  trifle  large,  but  you'll  have  to 
hitch  them  up  in  spots  and  in  in  other  spots  and 
make  the  best  of  it,"  Anthony  pursued  firmly. 
"It's  too  bad,  of  course,  but  it  is  unavoidable. 
Those  togs  of  yours  were  decidedly  shabby  and 
I  had  meant,  while  supposing  you  to  be  a  boy, 
that  to-day  we'd  have  some  shopping  done  for 
you.  Just  a  moment,  please." 

He  left  the  room  with  a  nervous  stride  alto- 
gether unlike  his  usual  dignified  glide.  He  turned, 
wildly  almost,  into  the  nearest  closet  in  the  cor- 
ridor and  switched  on  the  light.  There  was  the 
dark  gray  suit,  which  was  too  loose  even  for 
Anthony,  and  the  dark  brown  suit,  which  hap- 
pened to  be  too  long  for  him;  but  the  old  blue 
suit — ah,  that  was  the  one! 

Very  earnestly,  Anthony  tried  to  assure  himself 


THE  BUTTERFLY  129 

that  it  had  been  both  far  too  tight  and  far  too 
short  in  every  detail,  at  its  last  wearing;  almost 
pathetically  he  sought  to  tell  himself  that  David 
in  the  old  blue  suit  would  look  quite  like  a  young 
man  wearing  his  own  clothes — and  with  the  old 
blue  suit  over  his  arm  and  a  pair  of  shoes  in  the 
other  hand,  he  tiptoed  back  to  David. 

"This  is  the  next  best  thing  to  the  clothes  you 
wore,  and  I'm  sure  you'll  find  them  quite  all 
right,"  said  he. 

"Me  get  into  those?"  Mary  murmured  with 
the  same  strange  apathy. 

"Most  certainly,  and  I've  thought  out  the  rest 
of  it — there  while  I  was  locating  this  suit,"  An- 
thony pursued,  with  what  was  meant  for  a  reas- 
suring smile  and  making  his  jerky  way  to  the  little 
desk  in  the  corner  of  the  guest  chamber.  "I  shall 
give  you  a  note,  David,  addressed  to  a  mythical 
person  and  unsealed." 

"What  for?" 

"So  that,  on  the  remote  chance  of  any  one  in 
this  house  questioning  your  presence,  you  can  show 
that  you're  merely  delivering  a  grip — your  own — 
for  me!"  smiled  Fry,  as  he  scribbled.  "Rather 
clever,  that,  eh?" 


130  IN  AND  OUT 

"Horribly  clever!"  Mary  said  enigmatically. 

Two  long  minutes  the  pen  scratched  on,  while 
Mary  watched  his  back  with  the  same  inscrutable, 
almost  unwinking  stare.  Then  Anthony  turned 
with  a  smile. 

"This  is  to  Mr.  J.  Thurston  Phillips  at  the 
Astor  Hotel,"  said  he.  "If  I  were  you,  I'd  carry 
it  rather  conspicuously;  it's  quite  possible  that  the 
clerk  downstairs  may  want  to  know  who  you  are. 
And,  also  if  I  were  you,  I'd  explain  that  you're 
the  son  of  an  old  friend  of  mine  and  a  stranger 
in  the  city  and  that  I  put  you  up  overnight — 
something  like  that.  You  understand?" 

"I  hear  you  say  it,"  said  Mary. 

Anthony's  countenance  darkened  a  little  as  he 
rose. 

"Then  please  pay  strict  attention  to  what  I 
sayl"  he  said.  "I  am  doing  my  best  to  undo  an 
absurd  piece  of  business.  I'm  quite  ready  to  admit 
that  it  is  just  that,  but  the  blame  isn't  quite  all 
my  own.  You  should  have  told  me  the  truth. 
Now,  when  you're  dressed  and  ready — simply 
leave !  Just  walk  down  the  corridor  to  the  door, 
please,  open  it  and  go.  There's  no  need  of  risk- 
ing another  inspection  by  Mr.  Boiler;  you  look 


THE  BUTTERFLY  131 

decidedly  less  like  a  boy  in  daylight,  believe  me. 
Is  everything  clear?" 

"I  suppose  it  is,"  sighed  Mary,  with  a  signifi- 
cant glance  at  the  door. 

Anthony  allowed  himself  a  single  sigh  of  relief. 

"This,  then,  is  our  parting,"  he  said,  with  a  faint, 
Kindly  smile.  "I  ask  your  pardon  and  the  best  thing 
I  can  wish  you  is  a  safe  return  home.  G^od-by." 

"Au  revoir,"  Mary  said,  with  another  glance 
at  the  door. 

She  seemed  to  have  accepted  the  situation,  blue 
suit  and  all;  she  was  a  sensible  little  thing,  An- 
thony reflected  almost  comfortably,  as  he  hurried 
back  to  his  own  room  and  his  bath. 

And  now  he  would  rush  through  the  dressing 
process  himself,  as  he  had  never  rushed  before, 
and  by  some  means  he  would  manage  to  keep 
Johnson  Boiler  in  his  own  room  and  out  of  sight 
of  the  corridor,  until  the  telltale  closing  of  the 
door  assured  him  that  one  of  his  life's  most  pain- 
ful episodes  was  over. 

It  had  not  been  entirely  without  humor.  Later 
on — much  later  on — Anthony  assured  himself  that 
he  would  have  many  a  good  laugh  in  private  over 
the  youth  upon  whom  he  had  tried  to  thrust  op- 


132  IN  AND  OUT 

portunity — laughs  that  would  be  the  richer  and 
more  enjoyable  because  he  alone  possessed  the  key 
to  the  joke.  That  would  be  after  the  shock  had 
passed,  of  course;  enough  for  the  present  to  sigh 
again  and  again  and  think  gloriously  that  each 
second  brought  David  that  much  nearer  to  leaving. 

Yet  David  had  not  departed,  even  when 
Anthony  had  given  the  last  twitch  to  his  morning 
coat  and  the  last  dab  to  his  thin,  rather  prim  hair. 
He  listened,  as  he  entered  the  living-room,  and 
then  risked  a  quiet  trip  across  and  looked  down 
the  corridor;  David's  door  was  closed  tightly  and 
— yes,  even  though  it  caused  Anthony's  hair  to 
rise  and  his  cheek  to  flush  angrily,  David  was 
singing  a  faint  little  snatch  of  song  in  a  perfectly 
indubitable  soprano  I 

The  little  fool  should  have  had  more  sense; 
Anthony  listened,  started  down  to  halt  the  song 
and  turned  back  as  quickly,  to  head  for  Johnson 
Boiler's  room  and  engage  that  citizen  in  conver- 
sation, for  that  was  the  important  thing  just  now. 
He  turned  the  knob  and  would  have  entered 
rather  breezily,  but  that  Johnson  Boiler,  fully 
groomed  and  ready  for  the  day,  walked  out  sud- 
denly and  resistlessly  and  looked  around  with: 


THE  BUTTERFLY  133 

"Where's  the  kid?" 

"Er — dressing,"  said  Anthony. 

"Where's  breakfast?"  Mr.  Boiler  pursued. 

Inspiration  came  swiftly  to  Anthony. 

"I  breakfast  in  here  as  a  rule,"  said  he,  "but — 
just  this  morning,  you  know — I  thought  we  might 
go  below.  It's  not  so  quiet  down  there  and  there's 
more  to  see,  Johnson,  and " 

Johnson  Boiler  sprawled  comfortably  in  a  chair 
near  the  corridor  and  grinned. 

"Nix!"  said  he,  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 
"We'll  eat  right  here;  I'm  all  done  with  that  noisy 
stuff,  Anthony,  and  this  is  more  homelike.  And 
then,  another  thing,"  he  added  more  seriously,  "I 
want  to  cross-examine  that  little  shaver  in  private, 
as  it  were.  This  idea  of  settling  him  in  the  house 
without  knowing  anything  about  him  is  downright 
crazy.  I  want  to  ask  him  about  that  French  doll 
and " 

He  stopped.  The  window  at  the  end  of  the 
corridor  was  open  and  the  fresh  morning  breeze 
was  blowing  lightly  past  him.  Also,  he  sniffed. 

"Who's  using  perfume  around  here?"  asked 
Johnson  Boiler. 

"What?" 


i34  IN  AND  OUT 

"Strong — rank  I"  said  Anthony's  guest.  "Don't 
you  smell  it?" 

"I  smell  nothing,"  Anthony  said,  as  an  ex- 
pensive pungence  tickled  his  nostrils  suddenly, 
"but  I'll  see " 

He  started  for  the  corridor  and  stopped  short. 
David  had  left  his  room  and  was  coming  down — 
and  still,  it  did  not  sound  like  David!  David,  in 
Anthony's  shoes,  six  or  seven  sizes  too  large, 
should  have  been  thumping  clumsily;  these  foot- 
steps were  firm  little  pats,  with  the  sharp  rap  of 
a  heel  once  or  twice  on  the  polished  floor  beside 
the  runner.  More  still,  with  no  regard  at  all  for 
caution,  David,  using  his  soprano  voice,  was  hum- 
ing  the  same  little  tune. 

And  just  as  pure  premonition  had  sent  An- 
thony's skin  to  crawling,  just  as  his  scalp  was 
prickling  and  his  eyes  narrowing  angrily,  David 
was  with  them. 

By  way  of  raiment,  David,  the  grip  emptied, 
wore  the  daintiest  tailored  walking-gown,  short 
of  skirt  and  displaying  silken  stockings  and  patent 
leathers,  with  high,  slender  French  heels.  David's 
slim,  round,  girl-throat  suggested  the  faintest 
powdering;  David's  abundant  hair  was  dressed 


THE  BUTTERFLY  135 

bewitchingly,  with  little  reddish-blond  curls  stray- 
ing down  about  the  temples — and  had  one  spent 
a  morning  on  Fifth  Avenue  it  would  really  have 
been  rather  difficult  to  find  a  more  thoroughly 
attractive  or  better  gowned  girl  than  David! 

Yet,  in  spite  of  her  charms,  Johnson  Boiler, 
who  had  bounced  instinctively  from  his  chair, 
could  do  no  more  than  stare  at  David  with  the 
general  expression  of  a  fish  new-snatched  from 
water.  Second  after  second  he  gaped  before  his 
thick: 

"Who's  that?" 

"That's  David!"  Anthony  said  weakly. 

"The — the  boy  was  a  girl?" 

"It  would  seem  so." 

"Then "    Johnson    Boiler    stopped,    teeth 

shutting  suddenly.  He  stared  at  the  young 
woman  and  he  stared  at  Anthony  Fry,  who  smiled 
faintly  and  hopelessly.  His  face  grew  red  and 
then  purple  and  then  black. 

"Hah !"  he  cried  savagely.  "I've  got  it!  I've 
got  it,  you — you " 

"Hey?"  said  Anthony. 

"I  see  it  now!"  Mr.  Boiler  vociferated  sur- 
prisingly.  "You  framed  this  thing  up  on  me!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 
SCORNED 

ANTHONY'S  brain,  accustomed  to  the  most 
precise  and  unexciting  of  routines,  was 
tired — not  nearly  so  tired  as  it  was 
destined  to  become,  yet  too  tired  to  grasp  at  once 
the  significance  of  that  flaming  countenance.  He 
could  no  more  than  stand  limply  and  look  at 
Johnson  Boiler,  as  that  gentleman,  ignoring  Mary 
altogether,  strode  down  upon  him  with  clenched 
fists. 

"You  did  it,  but  you'll  never  get  away  with  it  I" 
he  cried. 

"Johnson " 

"Never  in  the  world!  I've  got  Wilkins  as  a 
witness  and " 

"Witness  for  what?" 

Johnson  Boiler,  albeit  he  trembled  with  fury, 
controlled  himself. 

"Don't  try  that  baby-stare  stuff  on  me,  Fry,** 


SCORNED  137 

he  said.  "I  understand  now.  Last  night  I  thought 
you  were  off  on  one  of  your  eccentric  spells,  but 
you  were  crazy  like  a  fox,  you  were!  But  don't 
think  for  one  minute  that  Beatrice  is  fool  enough 
to  drop  into  such  a  trap  I" 

Anthony  himself  did  a  little  controlling. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  he  cried. 

"The  thing  you've  tried  to  put  over,  to  get  me 
away  from  Beatrice!"  Johnson  Boiler  thundered. 
"That's  enough!  Don't  deny  it!  I  know  you 
don't  approve  of  matrimony;  I  know  you  never 
wanted  me  to  get  married;  I  know  that  we  haven't 
traveled  around  as  much  this  last  six  months  as 
we  did  in  the  twenty  years  before  it — and  I  sup- 
pose you've  been  lonely,  because  nobody  else  in 
the  world  would  stand  for  you.  But  by  Heaven, 
Anthony,  I  never  thought  you'd  try  to  break  up 
my  family  by " 

"Try  to  do  what?" 

Johnson  Boiler  dashed  the  sweat  of  fury  from 
his  eyes. 

"I  come  to  stay  with  you,  when  Beatrice  goes," 
he  said  tremblingly.  "And  although  there's  no 
woman  in  this  flat  ordinarily,  a  woman's  here  last 
night " 


138  IN  AND  OUT 

"Stop  there!"  Anthony  Fry  cried  savagely. 
"Do  you  mean  that  I  brought  this  woman  here 
deliberately?  Do  you  mean  that  I  knew?" 

"Knew!"  Johnson  Boiler  jeered. 

"Then  I  tell  you  that  you're  an  infernal  ass, 
sir,  and  I  decline  to  defend  myself!"  Anthony 
snarled  fiercely.  "You!  You  lovesick  fool  and 
your  crazy  imagination !  You're  too  much  in  love 
to  reason,  but — what  about  me?" 

"Well,  what  about  you?"  Johnson  Boiler 
sneered. 

"I,"  said  Anthony,  "have  borne  the  reputation 
of  a  decent  man!  No  women  have  ever  been  in 
this  apartment  before,  save  one  or  two  relatives ! 
No  woman  of  any  description  has  ever  passed  the 
night  here  before.  And  yet  now,  when  this  in- 
fernal thing  has  happened,  your  poor  addled  wits 
—oh,  bah!  Bah,  sir!" 

"Don't  bah  at  me!"  Mr.  Boiler  said  danger- 
ously, although  not  quite  so  dangerously,  because 
Anthony's  emotion  had  carried  its  own  conviction. 

Then,  for  a  little,  these  two  old  friends  stood 
and  trembled  and  glared  at  each  other,  Johnson 
Boiler  contemplating  a  swift  and  terrible  upper- 
cut  to  Anthony's  lean  jaw,  which  should  stretch 


SCORNED  139 

him  unconscious  perhaps  for  hours — Anthony 
meanwhile  wondering  superheatedly  whether,  once 
his  long  fingers  had  wound  about  Johnson  Boiler's 
plump  throat,  he  could  hold  on  until  wretched 
life  was  extinct. 

They  were  angry,  terribly  angry  and  almost 
for  the  first  time  in  their  lives,  and  had  they 
stood  and  glared  for  another  fifteen  seconds  it 
is  possible  that  one  or  the  other  might  have  ended 
his  days  in  Sing  Sing's  electric  chair — but  as  it 
happened  Mary's  voice  came  upon  the  vibrating, 
pregnant  air,  clear  and  cool  and  full  of  warranted 
acerbity. 

"While  all  this  talk  of  reputations  is  going  on," 
said  Mary,  "what  about  mine?" 

Anthony  Fry's  tension  snapped.  Johnson  Boi- 
ler, it  seemed,  was  of  no  mind  to  relinquish  his 
rare  fury  so  easily,  for  he  stood  with  his  fists 
clenched  and  trembled  a  little  even  now  and  his 
color  was  no  lighter  than  scarlet;  but  Anthony 
turned  and  bowed  almost  humbly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Mary,"  he  said  bit- 
terly. 

"Miss  Mary!"  echoed  Boiler.  "You  know  her, 
hey?" 


140  IN  AND  OUT 

"She  told  me  to  call  her  Mary,"  Anthony  said 
stiffly. 

"When?  When  you  hired  her  for  this  job?" 
Johnson  Boiler  persisted,  although  quite  weakly. 

"When  I  discovered — not  half  an  hour  back — 
that  she  was — er — what  she  is,"  Anthony  said 
coldly.  "And  let  that  be  an  end  to  your  com- 
ments, please.  You  saw  me  meet  this  young 
woman  for  the  first  time,  as  you  will  know  when 
you  recover  your  senses.  You  know  for  what  pur- 
pose and  under  what  misapprehension  I  brought 
her  to  this  apartment.  Don't  make  a  bad  matter 
worse  by  injecting  your  personal  brand  of  asin- 
inity." 

He  turned  his  back  on  Johnson  Boiler  and 
walked  away. 

Johnson  Boiler,  however,  turned  his  whole  at- 
tention to  Mary,  perched  on  the  arm  of  a  chair, 
distressed  enough  but  self-contained,  pretty  as  a 
picture.  And  slowly  reason  climbed  upon  her 
throne  again  in  Johnson  Boiler's  brain,  possessed 
though  it  was  by  Beatrice,  loveliest  of  wives. 

He  smiled  suddenly,  because  Beatrice  in  far-off 
Montreal  would  never  know;  he  even  grinned 
after  a  few  seconds;  and  then,  the  enormity  of  the 


SCORNED  141 

joke  on  Anthony  Fry  overcoming  him  suddenly, 
Johnson  Boiler  opened  his  mouth  and  laughed — 
not  a  mere,  decent  expression  of  mirth,  but  a 
roar  which  suggested  a  wild  bull  in  acute  agony. 

A  Niagara  of  sound  left  Johnson  Boiler  and 
ended  in  a  deep,  happy  wheeze — and  the  torrent 
broke  loose  again  and  he  hugged  his  fat  sides  and 
rocked  and  roared  again,  until  Wilkins,  genuinely 
startled,  entered  the  living-room,  and  stopped, 
more  genuinely  startled,  and  regarded  the  altered 
David  with  mouth  wide  open. 

"God  bless  my  soul!"  Wilkins  said  frankly. 
"What " 

"Wilkins!"  Anthony  snapped. 

"I — I  beg  pardon,  sir!"  the  faithful  one  choked. 
"The  young  lady " 

"The  young  lady,"  said  his  master,  and  his 
voice  had  the  edge  of  a  razor  blade,  "is — here 
by  accident,  Wilkins.  She  came  here  last  night, 
under  a  misapprehension,  while  masquerading  as 
a  boy.  You  will  forget  immediately  that  I  have 
told  you  this." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  Wilkins  said;  and  being  one 
of  those  rare,  model  creatures  we  read  about  but 
rarely  meet,  he  straightened  up  and  forced  his 


142  IN  AND  OUT 

tone  back  to  the  matter-of-fact  mumble.  "As  to 
breakfast,  sir?" 

Anthony  glanced  at  Mary. 

"Yes,  I'm  quite  human,"  she  said  crisply.  "I 
eat  breakfast." 

"For  three,  Wilkins,"  said  Anthony. 

And  now,  with  Wilkins  moving  incessantly  in 
and  out,  a  peculiar,  almost  silent  constraint  came 
upon  them.  Anthony,  at  the  window  gazed  at 
the  distant  street  and  tried  his  best  to  think;  there 
was  just  one  awful  thought  that  obtruded  itself 
upon  his  mind  and,  although  he  thrust  it  away 
again  and  again,  the  thought  came  back  and 
mocked  at  him.  Mentally,  he  lashed  at  it — yet 
ever  and  anon  it  returned  and  mocked  a  little  more 
and  made  impish  faces  at  him. 

Johnson  Boiler,  recovering  in  a  long,  delighted 
series  of  wheezes,  merely  ambled  to  a  corner  and 
gazed  at  Mary,  who  affected  to  read  unconcern- 
edly. She  was  certainly  pretty  and  watching  a 
pretty  girl  had  never  wearied  Mr.  Boiler;  but 
far  beyond  her  prettiness  was  the  terrific  joke  on 
old  Anthony. 

This  was  Anthony  who,  year  in  and  year  out, 
avoided  even  social  gatherings  where  women  pre- 


SCORNED  143^ 

dominated.  This  was  Anthony,  who  abominated 
the  whole  sex  and  could  be  goaded  into  actual 
rage  by  repeated  suggestions  that  one  of  his 
wealth  and  standing  should  marry  I  This  was 
Anthony,  who  had  threatened  to  leave  the  La- 
sande  that  day,  long  ago,  when  the  pretty  little 
woman  canvasser  had  flitted  past  the  office  and 
made  her  way  to  this  very  living-room. 

Well,  it  was  one  on  Anthony!  Nay,  it  was  a 
million  on  Anthony !  From  this  day  forth,  John- 
son Boiler  reflected  in  the  depths  of  his  perverted, 
amusement-loving  mind,  he  had  such  a  grip  on 
Anthony  Fry  that,  should  he  order  that  distin- 
guished citizen  to  walk  down  Fifth  Avenue  with 
a  lump  of  sugar  on  his  nose,  he  would  have  no 
choice  but  obedience. 

And  how  Anthony  would  writhe  and  how  that 
austere  countenance  could  be  colored  with  the 
blush  of  helpless  anger!  A  quantity  of  the  sav- 
age, merciless  little  boy  had  survived  in  Johnson 
Boiler  and  this  wait  for  breakfast  was  really  one 
of  the  happiest  periods  of  his  life. 

Wilkins,  quite  himself  again,  worked  deftly. 
The  service  elevator  from  the  pantry,  one  of  the 
Lasande's  features,  whined  softly  to  the  Fry 


144  IN  AND  OUT 

4 

apartment  and  stopped,   and  presently,   silently, 
Anthony  motioned  them  to  the  table. 

Johnson  Boiler  came  shaking  pleasantly,  albeit 
with  countenance  grave  enough.  Mary  came 
daintily  and  thoughtfully.  But  Anthony  Fry  came 
as  one  going  to  his  doom — because  the  inescapable 
thought  had  fastened  in  his  brain  and  every  new, 
terrible  second  held  less  hope  than  had  the  one 
before. 

Coffee  was  poured  then  and  food  served  and 
Wilkins  moved  out. 

"Is  he  gone  now?"  Mary  asked  quietly. 

"Yes,"  sighed  Anthony. 

"Then,  without  wasting  any  more  time,  wouldn't 
it  be  as  well  to  decide  just  what  we  are  going 
to  do?" 

Anthony  sighed  bitterly. 

"Now  that  you  have  elected  to  change  into  a 
very  charming  young  woman,  I  have  no  idea  of 
what  we're  going  to  do,  if  you  mean  by  way  of 
getting  you  out  unnoticed." 

Mary's  head  went  a  little  higher. 

"That's  exactly  what  I  mean,  of  course,"  said 
she.  "As  for  my  getting  into  my  own  clothes, 
what  else  was  there  to  do?  I  couldn't  wear  those 


SCORNED  145 

ridiculous  things  you  gave  me;  nothing  in  the 
world  could  have  tempted  me  to  go  on  the  street 
in  them,  even  if  I  could  have  worn  them.  I  tele- 
phoned for  Felice  and  had  her  bring  my  things 
because  I — I  wanted  to  feel  sane  again,  I  think, 
and  if  she  hadn't  made  such  a  wretched  disturb- 
ance, poor  child,  I'd  have  been  into  them  and  out 
of  here  long  ago." 

"And  I,"  escaped  Anthony,  "should  have  had 
to  explain." 

"You're  very  precious  of  that  good  name  of 
yours,  aren't  you?"  Mary  asked  tartly. 

"I  have  always  been,"  said  Anthony. 

And  then,  all  unaware  that  Mary's  pretty  lips 
had  compressed  and  that  her  eyes  were  flashing 
opinions  which  caused  Johnson  Boiler  fairly  to 
quake  with  glee,  Anthony's  head  dropped  lower 
and  he  stared  at  his  untouched  plate.  The 
thought  was  there  still — the  awful,  menacing 
thing,  coming  nearer  each  instant,  growing 
stronger  and  stronger. 

"It  must  be  lovely  to  be  such  a  thoroughly  good 
and  proper  man,"  Mary  said  sweetly.  "Couldn't 
you  possibly  forget  yourself  for  a  moment  and 
tell  me  how  you  plan  to  get  me  out  of  here? 


146  IN  AND  OUT 

Couldn't  you  spend  just  five  minutes  trying  to 
think  just  what  I'm  going  to  tell  my  people?" 

"Eh?"  gasped  Anthony. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have  people — a  mother  and  a  father 
and  then  some  more,"  Mary  informed  him.  "Nice 
people,  almost  as  proper  in  their  notions  as  you 
are." 

Anthony  merely  stared  at  her  numbly.  Uncon- 
sciously, perhaps,  she  had  driven  the  last,  long 
nail  into  his  coffin.  Her  people!  Momentarily, 
he  had  forgotten  that  she  might  have  people  and 
might  have  to  explain  to  them  just  where  last 
night  had  been  passed.  But  now  that  she  men- 
tioned a  father,  it  seemed  to  Anthony  that  he 
could  see  a  mighty  man,  a  man  of  wrath  and 
muscle  and  perhaps  a  man  who  could  slay  with 
one  blow  and — oh,  there  was  no  other  way! 

All  his  life,  Anthony  had  shied  from  woman. 
All  these  last  twenty-five  years  he  had  thanked  his 
lucky  stars  that  one  of  them  had  never  snared 
him!  He  had  been  alone,  to  live  as  he  pleased 
and  act  as  he  pleased  and  think  as  he  pleased; 
married  men  do  not  do  that,  as  witness  Johnson 
Boiler,  ensnared  by  Beatrice,  a  decent  enough 
young  woman  but  his  ruler. 


SCORNED  147 

Yes,  up  to  the  age  of  forty-five  he  had  been 
alone  and  contented,  year  in  and  year  out,  indulg- 
ing every  little  foible  without  a  soul  to  question, 
going  as  he  liked  and  coming  as  he  liked. 

But  that  was  over  now!  That  was  over  and 
done  with,  forever!  Anthony  Fry,  with  a  tiny 
groan,  looked  up  from  his  plate  and  faced  Mary. 

"Young  woman,"  said  he  deeply,  solemnly 
enough  to  cause  Johnson  Boiler  to  stop  quaking 
and  take  to  staring,  "I  have  avoided  women  all 
my  life." 

"Yes?"  Mary  said. 

"I  have  done  so,"  Anthony  went  on  steadily, 
marching  to  the  gallows  as  a  brave  man  should, 
with  never  a  falter  once  he  was  started,  "because 
to  my — possibly  eccentric — mind,  matrimony  has 
no  attractions.  The  bachelor  state,  I  fondly 
imagined,  was  to  be  my  chosen  state  until  death." 

Mary  looked  him  over  rather  too  critically, 
examining  the  wrinkles  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes 
and  considering  the  extreme  width  of  his  part. 

"That  was  a  good  enough  idea,"  she  said 
heartily.  "What  has  it  to  do  with  getting  me  out 
of  here?" 

"It  has  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it,  as  you  will 


148  IN  AND  OUT 

see,"  Anthony  said,  with  a  great,  quivering  sigh. 
"For  the  fact  of  your  presence  I  alone  will  take 
the  blame." 

"Thanks,"  said  Mary. 

"And  since  the  blame  is  mine,  I  will  make  what 
amends  I  can,"  Anthony  Fry  concluded,  and 
nerved  though  he  was,  his  voice  broke.  "I  will 
consent  to  marry  you!" 

"Huh?"  cried  John  Boiler. 

Mary,  for  the  moment,  said  nothing  at  all. 
The  intake  of  her  breath  was  audible,  though, 
and  her  color  rose — not  in  embarrassment,  plainly 
in  anger.  Mary's  eyes  snapped,  too,  and  she 
leaned  a  little  toward  him  questioningly,  as  if  in- 
credulous of  her  own  hearing. 

"You'll  do  what?"  said  Mary. 

"I  will  consent  to  marry  you!"  Anthony  re- 
peated, and  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  voice  was 
coming  hollowly  and  from  a  great  distance,  pre- 
sumably from  the  caverns  of  a  matrimony-infested 
Hades.  "It  will  be  simple — painfully  simple. 
The  ceremony  can  be  performed  this  morning  and 
in  New  Jersey.  We  will  leave  at  once  and  without 
notifying  either  your  friends  or  mine,  on  an  ex- 
tended wedding  tour — I  should  say  of  six  months' 


SCORNED  149 

duration  at  the  least,"  Anthony  went  on  brokenly, 
while  Johnson  Boiler  gazed  at  him  in  pure  fascina- 
tion. uln  a  week  or  so  we  can  write  everywhere, 
giving  the  impression  that  it  has  been  an  elope- 
ment, the  ceremony  having  been  performed  yes- 
terday. Then " 

"Stop!"  Mary  cried.  "Stop  that — that  plan, 
ning!" 

"Eh?" 

The  girl  was  sitting  bolt  upright,  eyes  snapping, 
and  Anthony  regarded  her  in  astonishment.  Also, 
she  thumped  the  table  with  her  small  clenched 
fist  as  she  looked  straight  at  him  and  gasped: 

"Why,  I — I  wouldn't  marry  you  if  you  were 
ten  times  the  last  man  in  the  world !" 

"But " 

"No!"  Mary  said  quite  wildly. 

"There  is  not  another  thing  to  do,"  Anthony  in- 
formed her,  with  a  forlorn,  heart-broken  smile. 
"Your  good  name " 

"You'll  find  some  other  way  of  preserving  my 
good  name!"  Mary  said  warmly.  "I'm  engaged 
now  to  the  very  finest  man  in  the  whole  world!" 

"You're  engaged!"  Anthony  cried  intelligently. 

"Yes,  and  he's  a  sane  man,  too,  and  he  doesn't 


150  IN  AND  OUT 

cry  over  the  prospect  of  marrying  me !"  the  young 
woman  hurtled  on.  "He's  a  real  man,  and  if  he 
ever  finds  out  that  you  made  me  stay  here  all  last 
night,  he'll  ignore  the  circumstances  and  shoot  you 
just  as  sure  as  you're  sitting  there!" 

She  stopped,  breathing  hard,  and  shook  her 
head  at  Anthony  Fry,  so  that  the  red-gold  curls 
tumbled  about  quite  riotously.  Anthony,  blinking, 
said  nothing  at  all,  but  his  friend  Johnson  Boiler 
took  to  muttering,  rather  like  a  perturbed  hen. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Boiler  was  downright  fond 
of  Anthony,  and  the  prospect  of  having  him  slain 
in  cold  blood  was  very  distressing.  Turning  help- 
ful for  the  first  time,  Johnson  Boiler  was  on  the 
point  of  trying  to  think  up  ways  and  means  of 
getting  Mary  out — but  Mary  herself  was  speaking 
again. 

"And  don't  think  that  that  ridiculous  proposal 
lifts  any  responsibility  from  your  shoulders, 
either!"  she  said,  energetically.  "It  doesn't!" 

"I  had  not  meant  to  imply  that  it  did,"  Anthony 
said  dully. 

"You  got  me  here  and  you've  kept  me  here," 
said  Mary,  and  it  was  plain  that  her  even  temper 
had  not  yet  returned.  "You'll  have  to  devise  the 


SCORNED  1-51 

way  to  get  me  out  of  here  and  what  to  say  when 
I  do  get  home." 

"Yes,"  murmured  Anthony. 

"And  if  it  will  help  any  in  rousing  you  out  of 
that  apathetic  state,"  the  girl  concluded,  "you  may 
as  well  know  that  there  isn't  the  slightest  doubt 
in  the  world  that  the  police  have  a  general  alarm 
for  me  long  before  this!" 

"Wow!"  said  Johnson  Boiler. 

"I  am — trying  to  think!"  Anthony  said  with 
difficulty. 

So  far  as  posture  went,  he  looked  it.  His  lean 
hands  were  gripping  the  edges  of  the  table  nerv- 
ously, and  his  head  was  bent  again;  he  scowled 
and  then  shook  his  head  as  if  to  dispel  the  scowl. 
He  cleared  his  throat  repeatedly;  he  glanced  at 
Johnson  Boiler,  whose  expression  was  divided  be- 
tween irrepressible  amusement  and  some  concern 
— and  he  cleared  his  throat  once  more  and  stared 
his  fried  egg  fixedly  in  its  lone  eye. 

Thus  he  was  sitting  after  five  silent  minutes, 
which  both  Mary  and  Boiler  had  improved  gas- 
tronomically,  when  Wilkins  entered. 

"Beg  pardon,  Mr.  Fry,"  said  he.  "A  gentle- 
man to  see  you." 


i52  IN  AND  OUT 

"I  can't  see  him,"  Anthony  said  quickly. 

Wilkins  smiled. 

"But  this  gentleman's  on  his  way  up  now,  sir," 
he  said.  "He's  one  of  your  friends,  and  the  office 
allowed  him  to  come  up  and  merely  'phoned  that 
he  was  coming.  It  is  Mr.  Robert  Vining,  sir!" 

Anthony  shook  his  head. 

"Well,  I  cannot  see  even  Mr.  Vining  this  morn- 
ing," he  said.  "Say,  when  he  comes  to  the  door, 
that — good  gracious!" 

This  last  being  quite  justified,  because  Mary, 
with  one  small  shriek,  had  bounded  from  her 
chair  like  a  frightened  fawn !  The  chair,  toppling 
over,  bumped  about  the  floor  for  a  bit  until  Wil- 
kins caught  it,  and  Mary,  both  hands  clutched 
upon  her  bosom,  stood  poised  for  a  full  second, 
eyes  round  and  horrified,  lips  parted. 

Then,  as  the  lightning  flashes,  Mary  had  turned, 
and  it  seemed  that  she  floated  through  the  air  to 
the  corridor  and  into  the  corridor  and  down  the 
corridor.  In  rather  less  than  another  second  the 
door  of  the  recent  David's  chamber  closed  with 
a  slam. 

At  the  door  the  buzzer  was  buzzing. 

"Will  you  see  him,  sir?"  asked  Wilkins. 


SCORNED  153 

"What?  Yes,"  said  Anthony.  "Take  away 
that  chair  and  that  extra  plate  before  you  open 
the  door." 

Johnson  Boiler  stood  with  lips  pursed  gravely 
until  Wilkins  was  gone. 

"Are  you  going  to  let  him — er — know?" 

"Hardly,"  said  Anthony.  "Although — I  don't 
know.  Bob's  level-headed  and  resourceful  and 
reliable.  Do  you  suppose  it  would  be  possible  to 
— ask  his  aid?" 

"Think  of  the  girl!"  said  Johnson  Boiler. 
"Think  what " 

He  stopped,  for  Mr.  Robert  Vining  was  with 
them — a  tall,  broad-shouldered,  person  of  a  year 
or  so  past  thirty,  bright  and  steady  of  eye,  and 
with  the  flush  of  health  upon  his  carefully  shaven 
cheek.  He  entered  like  the  muscular  paragon  he 
was,  lithely  and  easily  as  a  tiger;  and  it  seemed 
to  Anthony  that,  if  he  did  nothing  else,  fifteen 
minutes  of  his  conversation  might  serve  to  restore 
normal  thought. 

Robert  Vining  was  all  of  the  pleasant  every 
day  that  had  been  before  their  visit  to  the  fight, 
and  the  very  sight  of  him  was  stimulating. 

So  he  clasped  Vining's  hand  and  said  heartily: 


154  IN  AND  OUT 

"Good  morning,  Bob!     You've  breakfasted?" 

"Long  since,"  grinned  young  Mr.  Vining.  "I — 
who  uses  perfume  around  here?" 

"No  one,"  Anthony  said,  paling  slightly.  "Pos- 
sibly  " 

Vining's  eyes  twinkled. 

"Guess  I  imagined  it,"  he  said.  "There's  a 
reason!  Well,  it's  early,  but  I  thought  I'd  drop 
in  for  a  moment  in  passing  and  see  what  you 
thought  of  the  alleged  battle  last  night.  Hello, 
Johnson!  Heard  you  were  here.  Did  you  go, 
too?" 

"Yep,"  said  Johnson  Boiler,  gazing  at  his  old 
friend  and  wondering  whether  Anthony  thought 
he  was  looking  and  acting  like  himself. 

"It  was  one  grand  lemon,  Anthony,  was  it  not?" 
asked  Mr.  Vining,  sprawling  comfortably  for  a 
stay  and  pinching  the  end  of  his  cigarette. 

Anthony  himself  settled  down  in  his  pet  chair 
for  a  normal  quarter-hour. 

"It  was  all  of  that,"  he  agreed  almost  cheer- 
fully. "I've  seen  the  so-called  Kid  in  pretty  bad 
form  before;  he  was  a  howling  outrage  when  he 
fought  Morr  two  years  ago,  but  last  night " 

His  voiced  trailed  away  oddly  and  for  cause. 


SCORNED  155 

Wilkins,  coming  from  nowhere  in  particular,  was 
standing  in  the  corridor.  He  looked  straight  at 
his  master  and  with  great  meaning,  and  having 
caught  his  attention  he  rolled  his  eyes  toward 
David's  room  and  nodded  slightly.  Again  he 
looked  at  Anthony,  again  he  nodded;  and  Anthony 
rose  abruptly. 

"You — excuse  me  for  a  moment,  Bob?"  he 
asked,  in  the  same  low,  husky  voice  that  had 
afflicted  him  before  this  morning.  "Wilkins — ah 
— Wilkins  wishes " 

He  hurried  across  the  room  and  followed  Wil- 
kins as  he  backed  into  the  shadows  of  the  corridor. 

"She  wishes  to  see  you,  sir,"  the  invaluable  one 
whispered.  "She  rang  for  me  and  she  says  it's 
urgent." 

"But " 

"I'd  go  at  once,  sir!"  Wilkins  breathed  fer- 
ently.  "I  really  would,  Mr.  Fry.  She  seems  in 
a  bit  of  a  temper,  if  I  may  say  so." 

Anthony  passed  him  without  further  comment 
or  protest,  and  hastened  to  David's  door.  Ap- 
prehension filled  him  suddenly,  not  so  much  be- 
cause there  was  any  reason  for  apprehension  as 
because  he  was  nervous.  Anger  went  up,  too,  that 


156  IN  AND  OUT 

the  wretched  girl  should  have  upset  the  first  calm 
and  peaceful  moment  of  the  morning,  so  that  it  is 
quite  possible  that  Anthony  failed  to  smile  as  he 
entered  the  chamber. 

For  that  matter,  Mary  was  not  smiling  either. 
She  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  clinging  to  it, 
and  her'  Dosom  heaved  and  her  eyes  bored  into 
Anthony  Fry. 

"That — that  man!"  she  whispered  quite  dra- 
matically. 

"He  is  merely  an  old  friend  of  mine,  Miss 
Mary,"  Anthony  said  impatiently.  "I  have  no 
idea  of  mentioning  your  existence,  far  less  of " 

"Did  your  man  say  Robert  Vining?" 

"Of  course." 

"Is  that  the  Robert  Vining  of  Vining  &  Dale, 
lawyers,  in  Wall  Street?"  Mary  cried  softly. 

"Of  course,"  said  Anthony.  "It  isn't  possible 
that  you  know  him?" 

"Know  him?"  Mary  echoed  wildly.  "That's 
the  man  I'm  going  to  marry  1" 


CHAPTER  IX 
CRIME? 

ENTERING,  the  owner  of  Fry's  Imperial 
Liniment  had  been  justifiably  annoyed. 
Twenty  seconds  after  entering,  Mary's 
obvious  excitement  had  caused  the  annoyance  to 
give  place  to  not  very  interested  wonder;  but  now 
Mary  had  claimed  all  his  attention  and  the  annoy- 
ance was  all  gone.  Indeed,  as  a  quantity  to  claim 
one's  whole  attention  Mary  had  been  a  success 
from  the  very  beginning. 

Anthony  Fry,  then,  scowled  flitting  incredulity 
at  her;  and  the  absurdity  of  being  incredulous  of 
one  who  panted  and  shook  as  did  Mary  becoming 
at  once  apparent,  Anthony  paled  somewhat. 

"I  cannot — believe  that  such  an  astonishing 
coincidence "  he  began. 

"What  you  believe  or  don't  believe  doesn't  in- 
terest me!"  Mary  said  swiftly.  "Did  I  hear  him 
talking  about  that  wretched  fight  last  night?" 


158  IN  AND  OUT) 

"Er— yes." 

"He  was  there?" 

"Of  course." 

"Well,  it's  the  same  Robert  Vining!"  Mary 
whispered.  "Get  him  out  of  herel" 

"But " 

"Don't  argue  about  it!  Get  him  out  of  here!" 
said  Mary.  "Do  you  suppose  I  want  him  to  come 
wandering  down  this  way  and  find  me?" 

"He  will  not  do  that,  because " 

"How  do  you  know  whether  he  will  or  not?" 
Mary  demanded  hotly.  "Why  did  he  have  to 
come  here?  It's  all  his  fault — the  whole  thing's 
his  fault!  If  he  hadn't  refused  to  take  me  to  that 
beastly  old  fight  and  made  such  a  time  about  it, 
I'd  never  have  made  up  my  mind  to  go,  any- 
way!" 

"So  that's  what  happened?"  Anthony  muttered. 

"That  is  what  happened.  Now  get  him  out  of 
herel"  Mary  directed.  "And  do  it  quickly!" 

After  all,  the  unlucky  little  coincidence  was  not 
nearly  so  serious  as  she  seemed  to  think.  Anthony 
smiled  quite  calmly. 

"He  will  not  stay  very  long,"  said  he,  "and 
when  he  is  ready  to  go  I  will  not  detain  him,  of 


CRIME?  159 

course.  But  I  can't  very  well  go  in  and  order  him 
out,  you  know." 

Mary,  bosom  heaving  still,  looked  straight  at 
him  with  burning  eyes. 

"Mr.  Fry,"  she  said  solemnly,  "I've  always 
lived  too  much  out  doors  and  boxed  and  shot  and 
paddled  and  ridden  too  much  to  be  given  to  hys- 
terics. The  only  time  I  ever  had  hysterics  was 
the  night  they  thought  dad  had  been  killed — but 
that  night,  once  I  started,  the  neighbors  came  out 
on  the  street  two  blocks  away  to  see  what  was 
the  matter!" 

"I  don't  understand?" 

"You  will,"  Mary  said,  controlling  herself  with 
visible  difficulty.  "You've  made  me  stand  enough 
since  last  night,  and  there  are  some  things  I  can- 
not— some  things  I  will  not  even  try  to  stand! 
I  tell  you  honestly  that  if  Bob  isn't  out  of  this  flat 
in  two  minutes,  I'm  going  into  a  fit  of  hys- 
terics that  will  have  the  reserves  piling  into  this 
sanctified  hotel  just  as  surely  as  the  sun  is  shin- 
ing!" 

"Miss  Mary "  faltered  Anthony  Fry. 

Mary's  hands  clenched  in  the  most  peculiar 
manner. 


i6o  IN  AND  OUT 

"Hadn't  you  better  make  the  best  of  those  two 
minutes?"  she  asked  breathlessly. 

His  quiet  smile  was  gone  now;  lines  appeared 
in  Anthony's  countenance  as  he  looked  at  her — 
and  then,  wasting  no  further  time  in  aimless  com- 
ment, he  turned  and  tottered  into  the  corridor. 
Mary  meant  just  what  she  said. 

Robert  Vining  and  Johnson  Boiler  were  sprawl- 
ing in  the  deep  chairs,  opposite  one  another, 
smoking  comfortably  and  giving  every  evidence 
of  having  settled  down  for  a  considerable  session. 
Young  "Mr.  Vining  grinned  through  the  smoke  at 
his  older  friend. 

"Sit  down,  Anthony,"  said  he.  "We're  just 
going  over  the  thing  round  by  round,  to  see  if 
eitl  ?r  of  us  can  remember  a  worse  fight  for  the 
money.  We're  working  on  round  two,  just 
now." 

Anthony  smiled  strangely  and  laid  a  dramatic 
hand  upon  his  brow. 

"I  will  not  join  the  discussion,"  he  said. 

"Eh?  What's  the  matter?"  Robert  asked,  sit- 
ting up. 

"Headache !  One  of  the — er — headaches  that 
make  my  life  a  burden !"  Anthony  groaned. 


CRIME?  161 

"I  never  knew  you  had  'em,"  young  Vining  said 
with  a  mystified  smile. 

"Neither  did  I,"  Johnson  Boiler  contributed 
healthfully. 

"Did  you  have  it  before  you  talked  to  Wilkins, 
there  ?"  pursued  Robert,  who  owned  a  really  keen 
mind. 

("Er — it  was  just  coming  on." 

"No  bad  news,  old  chap?"  Vining  said,  cross- 
ing his  legs  the  other  way. 

Anthony  shook  his  head  and  smiled  again,  in- 
dicating suffering  that  was  not  all  simulated. 

"No,  just  the  —  er  —  headache,"  he  said. 
"Comes  on  suddenly,  you  know,  and  settled  in  the 
back  of  my  head  and  neck.  There  is  only  one 
thing  that  can  be  done  for  it  and  that  is  a  steady 
massage.  Perhaps  you'd  do  that  for  me,  John- 
son?" 

"Sure,"  said  Johnson  Boiler,  whose  eyes  shot 
two  questions  to  the  second.  "Sit  down  and  we 
can  go  on  talking  while  I  rub." 

"Well,  I  have  to  lie  down  for  this,"  Anthony 
explained.  "On  the  bed,  you  know,  and  it's — 
well,  it  is  likely  to  take  an  hour  or  more.  You 
wouldn't  care  to  wait  around,  Bob?" 


i62  IN  AND  OUT 

Mr.  Vining  gazed  steadily  at  him.  No  refined 
intuition  was  necessary  to  tell  Anthony  that  it  was 
not  his  morning  for  tactful  dismissals.  This  ef- 
fort, evidently,  had  carried  the  delicate  touch  of 
a  blow  from  a  baseball  bat,  for  Robert,  flushing 
slightly,  spoke  with  unpleasant  crispness : 

"No,  I  couldn't  wait,  I'm  sure.  And  while  I 
don't  understand  it,  of  course,  I'm  sure  I'm  sorry 
to  have  intruded.  Good-by." 

"You  —  haven't  intruded,"  Anthony  cried. 
"Only " 

"Well,  don't  bother  explaining,"  said  young 
Mr.  Vining.  •  "I  beg  your  pardon  for  breaking 
in  and — good  morning." 

Wherewith  he  stalked  out  to  the  corridor,  re- 
moved his  hat  from  the  rack  without  the  assistance 
of  Wilkins  and,  opening  the  door  himself,  closed 
it  after  him  with  a  careful  lack  of  force  that  was 
more  expressive  than  any  slam. 

"Gone  off  mad!"  Johnson  Boiler  said. 

"I  can't  help  it  I"  Anthony  said  miserably. 

"Nice  chap,  too!  Too  bad  to  offend  him  that 
way,"  Mr.  Boiler  pursued  meditatively.  "Friends 
are  few  and  far  between  in  this  sad  old  world, 
Anthony,  and  a  queer  dick  like  you — rich  or  poor 


CRIME?  163 

— has  trouble  hanging  on  to  the  few  he  makes. 
Oh,  I  don't  mean  to  be  nasty,  you  know;  I'm  just 
telling  you.  Well,  come  and  have  your  head 
rubbed." 

Anthony  collapsed  into  his  chair. 

"There's  nothing  wrong  with  my  head,"  he 
said.  "That  was  the  first  lie  I  could  think  of, 
Johnso'n,  to  get  him  out  of  here.  He  had  to  go  1" 

"Why?" 

"She  said  so,"  Anthony  informed  him,  with  a 
ghastly  little  smile.  "She's  engaged  to  him!" 

"To  Bob  Vining?" 

"Yes!" 

Johnson  Boiler  whistled  softly  and,  elevating 
his  eyebrows,  thrust  his  hands  into  his  trousers 
pockets  and  looked  at  Anthony  with  new  com- 
miseration. 

"Too  bad,  that  I"  said  he.  "Too  bad  for  you 
that  it  should  have  been  a  chap  of  the  Vining 
type." 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"Well,  sooner  or  later,  he  may  find  out.  The 
chances  are  that  he  will  find  out  just  what  you've 
done  to  that  girl,"  Boiler  went  on  contemplatively. 
"It's  just  about  as  she  says,  too.  If  he  was  a  fool, 


1 64  IN  AND  OUT 

you  could  fool  him,  one  way  or  another.  Or  if 
he  was  a  little  snide,  Anthony,  you  could  talk  him 
off  or  bribe  him  off — but  it'll  never  be  like  that 
with  Bob.  He'll  never  take  any  account  of  the 
circumstances ;  he'll  just  snatch  out  the  gun  and  let 
fly!" 

"Rot!"  Anthony  said  thinly. 

Johnson  Boiler's  face  grew  grave  and  more 
grave.  He  sighed  and  looked  over  Anthony's 
head  for  a  little  and  then,  reaching  a  decision,  he 
looked  at  him  suddenly. 

"Old  chap,"  he  said  kindly. 

"Well?" 

"I  don't  want  to  worry  you,  but  perhaps  it  is 
better  for  you  to  know — now.  And  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  mention  it,  because  Bob  told  me  once, 
two  years  ago,  and  showed  it  to  me  in  a  sort  of 
burst  of  confidence." 

"Showed  you  what?" 

"Down  at  the  base  of  this  thumb,  Bob  Vining's 
got  the  murderer's  cross!"  Johnson  Boiler  said 
huskily. 

"Nonsense!"  Anthony  said  sharply. 

"It's  a  fact!  The  little  mark  is  there,  clear  as 
if  it  had  been  drawn  in  with  a  knife!"  said  Mr. 


CRIME?  165 

Boiler.  "And  for  another  fact — I  don't  know 
whether  you  know  this  or  not,  but  virtually  every 
murderer  who  has  been  executed  in  the  last  twenty 
years  in  this  State,  has  shown  that  cross  in  some 
form  and " 

He  stayed  the  pleasant  flow  abruptly.  From 
the  direction  of  David's  doorway  a  rustle  was 
coming,  very  softly  and  cautiously,  yet  quite  dis- 
tinctly. It  paused  in  the  corridor  while  Mary 
drew  aside  a  corner  of  the  curtain  and  looked  in — 
and  then  Mary  was  with  them  and  asking: 

"Is  he  gone?" 

"Yes,"  Anthony  sighed. 

r'Was  he  excited  while  he  was  here?" 

"Not  at  all,  apparently." 

"Then  he  doesn't  know  yet  that  I've  disap- 
peared," Mary  said  calmly,  returning  to  her  place 
at  the  cleared  table.  "Isn't  he  a  darling?" 

"He  is — a  very  charming  fellow,"  Anthony 
muttered,  thinking  of  the  murderer's  cross. 

"Did  your  man  take  my  coffee  away?"  Mary 
pursued. 

Silently,  Anthony  rang  for  his  servitor.  Silently, 
Wilkins  brought  back  pot  and  cup  and  the 
little  plate  of  toast;  and  Mary,  a  very  pleasing 


1 66  IN  AND  OUT 

little  figure  indeed,  sipped  and  munched  and 
asked: 

"Well,  have  you  determined  how  I'm  to  leave?" 

Anthony  merely  stared  moodily  at  her  at  first. 
Johnson  Boiler,  though,  found  his  sense  of  humor 
overcoming  him  again.  He  gazed  at  Anthony, 
hair  rumpled,  eyes  fogged  with  anxiety  such  as  he 
rarely  knew,  and  presently  Johnson  Boiler  was 
vibrating  again.  One  merry  little  wheeze  escaped 
and  earned  a  glare  from  Anthony,  another  fol- 
lowed it — and  after  that  Johnson  Boiler  sat  back 
and  haw-hawed  frankly  until  Anthony  spoke. 

"So  far,  I  have  been  thinking  of  the  ways  in 
which  you  cannot  leave,"  he  admitted  tartly.  "If 
you'd  consent  to  try  my  clothes  and " 

"Umum,"  said  Mary,  shaking  her  head.  "No, 
no!" 

"Then  frankly,  I  don't  know  what  to  suggest," 
said  the  master  of  the  apartment.  "You  are  not 
invisible.  You  cannot  walk  through  the  office  with- 
out being  seen,  Miss  Mary — and  once  you  have 
done  that  be  sure  that  your  face  will  be  registered 
in  the  memory  of  the  employees.  You  have  no 
idea  of  moving  from  New  York,  I  take  it?" 

"Hardly." 


CRIME?  167 

"Then  since  you  will  be  about  town  for  years, 
may  I  point  out  that  each  man  who  sees  you  will 
remember,  also  for  years,  that  you  left  one  of 
these  apartments  and " 

He  paused,  partly  in  distress  and  partly  because 
it  seemed  to  him  that  Wilkins  was  whispering  to 
somebody.  He  sat  up  then,  because  Wilkins  was 
talking  and  there  was  another  voice  he  could  not 
at  first  place.  He  had  heard  it  before,  many 
times,  and  it  was  very  calm,  very  clear,  very  de- 
termined; and  now  Wilkins'  tone  came  distinctly 
and  resignedly. 

"Well,  of  course,  if  he's  expecting  you,  sir " 

The  door  closed.  Steps  approached  the  living- 
room.  And  with  Mary  sitting  at  the  table,  coffee- 
cup  in  hand,  furnishing  just  the  homelike  touch 
a  bachelor  apartment  must  normally  lack,  Hobart 
Hitchin  was  with  them! 

One  glance  settled  the  fact  that  the  amateur 
detective  had  attained  a  high  state  of  nervous  ten- 
sion. Behind  his  spectacles,  the  keen  eyes  flashed 
about  like  a  pair  of  illuminated  steel  points;  his 
face  seemed  tired,  but  the  rest  of  him  was  as 
alive  as  a  steel  spring,  and  his  right  hand  held  a 
fat  brief-case. 


1 68  IN  AND  OUT 

Had  he  been  more  intimately  acquainted  with 
Hobart  Hitchin,  Anthony  Fry  would  have  trem- 
bled. As  it  was,  he  felt  merely  keen  annoyance — 
and  then  utter  consternation,  because  Hitchin  had 
stopped  with  a  jerk  and  was  looking  straight  at 
Mary. 

"I — er — didn't  know,"  he  said. 

Poor  little  Mary,  be  she  who  she  might, 
was  in  a  decidedly  ticklish  position,  however 
perfectly  her  outward  calm  was  preserved. 
Everything  that  was  chivalrous  in  Anthony 
surged  up  and  told  him  to  protect  her;  and 
coming  out  of  the  nowhere  at  the  very  last 
second,  merciful  inspiration  reached  his  brain 
and  he  stared  so  fixedly,  so  warningly  at  John- 
son Boiler  that  that  gentleman's  chronic  quiver 
ceased. 

"Only  —  ah  —  Mrs.  Boiler!"  Anthony  said 
quietly.  "My  dear  Mrs.  Boiler — Mr.  Hitchin, 
one  of  our  neighbors  here." 

Johnson  Boiler  himself  started  out  of  his  chair, 
gripping  its  arms;  and  then,  the  general  sense 
penetrating  his  cranium,  dropped  back  with  a  puff. 
His  mouth  opened,  as  if  to  protest ;  his  eye  caught 
the  eye  of  Anthony  Fry.  With  a  gasp  and  a  flush, 


CRIME?  169 

Mr.  Johnson  Boiler  subsided  for  the  time,  and 
Anthony  was  saying  suavely: 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boiler  were  with  me  overnight, 
you  know — decorators  have  captured  their  place 
and  they  were  good  enough  to  take  the  edge  off 
my  loneliness  for  a  little." 

"I  never  knew  you  minded  it;  I've  heard  you 
say  you  liked  it,"  Hobart  Hitchin  smiled  as  he 
took  Mary's  hand  and  favored  her  with  his  drill- 
point  stare.  "But  when  you  are  alone  again  I'm 
quite  sure  that  you'll  know  how  lonely  you  are  I 
My  dear  Mrs.  Boiler,  I  am  honored!" 

Mary,  after  one  startled  and  one  thankful  glance 
at  Anthony,  dimpled  charmingly.  Mr.  Hitchin 
dropped  her  hand  and  ceased  his  inspection,  and 
immediately  he  turned  more  tensely  solemn  than 
upon  his  entrance. 

"Ah — Fry,"  said  he.  "I  suppose  we  can  have 
a  few  minutes'  chat?" 

"An  hour  if  you  like,"  Anthony  smiled,  quite 
happily,  too,  because  he  was  rather  proud  of  his 
quick-wittedness. 

Hobart  Hitchin  gazed  straight  at  Mary. 

"And  Mr.  Boiler  will  remain  with  us?" 

"What's  the  mystery?"  Johnson  Boiler  asked. 


170  IN  AND  OUT 

"There  is  not,  I  fear,  much  mystery,"  Hitchin 
said,  looking  straight  at  Anthony.  "But  there  is 
a  little  matter  I'd  like  to  discuss  with — er — you 
two  gentlemen." 

Mary  rose  hastily. 

"I'd  better  go?"  she  smiled. 

"If  it  would  not  inconvenience  you,  dear  lady," 
Hitchin  said  unsmilingly  and  with  a  stiff  bow. 

Chin  squared,  he  stood  in  silence  until  she  had 
vanished  down  the  corridor.  He  crossed  the  room 
and  listened  intently,  dramatically;  he  held  up  the 
curtains  and  looked  for  the  sliding  doors  which 
had  been  taken  out  five  years  before. 

"No  way  of  shutting  up  this  room,  Fry?"  he 
asked  crisply. 

"No  need  of  shutting  it  up,  either,"  said  An- 
thony. "There  is  no  one  to  listen.  What  seems 
to  be  the  trouble,  Hitchin?" 

Hitchin  wheeled  suddenly  and  turned  his  re- 
markable eyes  upon  Anthony. 

"You  don't  know,  eh?"  he  shot  at  him. 

"I'm  sure  I  do  not." 

"And  whether  he  does  or  not,  what  do  you 
think  you're  doing?"  Johnson  Boiler  asked  impa- 
tiently. "Acting  a  moving  picture  or " 


CRIME?  171 

"Mr.  Boiler,  may  I  trouble  you  to  keep  out  of 
this  for  a  little?"  the  crime  student  asked  amaz- 
ingly. "Later  on  I  may  wish  to  ask  you  a  question 
or  two,  and  if  you  will  answer  them  it  will  serve 
me  and — Mr.  Fry.  Just  now,  suppose  we  draw 
up  around  the  table  here,  so  that  it  will  not  be 
necessary  to  shout?" 

Anthony  was  there  already,  scowling.  Johnson 
Boiler,  with  a  grunt,  shuffled  over  and  took  a 
chair;  because  this  Hitchin  creature,  on  the  face 
of  him,  was  the  morning's  latest  full-blown  freak, 
and  Johnson  Boiler  did  not  wish  to  miss  any- 
thing. 

Also,  if  the  chance  came,  he  meant  to  inform 
Hitchin  that  Mary  was  not  Mrs.  Boiler  at  all, 
if  it  could  be  contrived  without  casting  too  much 
of  a  slur  on  Mary — although  that  could  wait  until 
they  learned  the  cause  of  Hitchin's  pale  cheek  and 
his  keen,  excited  eye. 

Hitchin,  however,  had  relaxed  in  the  most 
curious  fashion;  he  was  smiling  whimsically  at 
Anthony  now  and,  although  his  eye  was  across 
the  room,  one  felt  that  it  could  turn  with  one  one- 
thousandth  of  a  second's  warning  and  peer 
through  Anthony's  soul. 


IN  AND  OUT 

"Fry,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "I  have  been  in- 
terested in  crime  for  a  good  many  years.  I  have, 
as  it  were,  dabbled  in  it  partly  for  the  love  of  the 
thing  and  partly  because,  on  one  occasion  or  an- 
other, it  has  been  possible  for  me  to  extend  help 
that  would  not  otherwise  have  been  extended." 

"That's  a  mysterious  statement,"  Anthony  said. 

"Crime — some  of  it — is  mysterious,"  smiled 
Mr.  Hitchin.  "Motives  are  usually  more  mys- 
terious. Mistaken  motives — motives  formed  un- 
der misapprehension — are  most  mysterious  of  all. 
But  the  consequences  of  crime,"  said  Mr.  Hitchin, 
whirling  suddenly  on  Anthony,  "are  inevitable, 
inescapable  as  the  rising  of  the  sun." 

Johnson  Boiler  shook  his  head.  The  man  had 
always  been  queer;  now,  overnight,  he,  too,  had 
gone  crazy!  Anthony,  who  was  largely  nerves 
this  morning,  asked: 

"What  the  devil  are  you  talking  about,  anyway? 
I'm  not  trying  to  be  unpleasant,  Hitchin,  but  I'm 
not  myself  this  morning  and  this  rambling  dis- 
course about  crime  is  rather  trying." 

"You  are  not  yourself  this  morning?"  Hitchin 
repeated  slowly,  with  a  very  keen  smile  at  An- 
thony. 


CRIME?  173 

"No." 

"Why  are  you  not  yourself  this  morning,  Fry?" 

"What?  Because  I  lost  some  sleep  last  night, 
I  suppose." 

"Ah!"  Hitchin  cried  softly.  "And  why  did 
you  lose  some  sleep  last  night?" 

Anthony's  patience  snapped. 

"See  here,  Hitchin!"  he  cried.  "I  like  to  be 
polite  and  hospitable  as  possible,  but  why  on 
earth  I  should  sit  here  and  answer  your  ridiculous 
questions  I  cannot  see." 

Hobart  Hitchin  laughed,  a  low,  rippling,  sinister 
laugh  that  chilled  the  hearer  without  giving  a  clue 
to  the  reason  for  the  chill. 

"Shall  I  show  you  why  it  were  better  for  you 
to  answer,  Fry?"  he  purred. 

"No!" 

"Oh,  but  I'd  better,"  insisted  the  crime  student. 
"Fry,  let  us  go  back  a  few  hours.  You  returned 
home  last  night  about  midnight,  I  think — fifteen 
or  twenty  minutes  before  the  hour?" 

"Yes." 

"There  was  with  you  a  young  man  named  David 
Prentiss?" 

"Of  course." 


1 74  IN  AND  OUT 

"Then  here  is  the  reason  for  my  questions!" 
cried  Hobart  Hitchin,  and  his  whole  personality 
seemed  aflame.  "Anthony  Fry,  where  is  David 
Prentiss?" 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  WEB 

JUST  the  manner  of  the  man  startled  Anthony 
and  caused  him  to  hitch  back  in  his  chair 
and  stare  for  an  instant.  Johnson  Boiler 
was  not  so  affected. 

"Say,  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Hitchin?"  he 
asked.  "Are  you  a  plain  nut?" 

Hitchin  snapped  his  fingers  at  him  angrily  and 
continued  his  stare  at  Anthony  Fry. 

"Well?"  he  said  tensely. 

"Well,  upon  my  soul,  Hitchin  1"  Anthony  stam- 
mered. "I  believe  Boiler's  right!" 

"Oh,  no,  you  don't,"  Hobart  Hitchin  said 
quietly.  "You  know  a  great  deal  better  and  Boiler 
knows  a  great  deal  better,  but  he  has  a  good  deal 
more  self-control  than  you  have.  Fry,  where  is 
David  Prentiss?" 

"Gone  home,  of  course!"  Anthony  snapped. 


176  IN  AND  OUT 

"When  did  he  go?" 

"What?    Last  night!" 

"And  can  you  give  me  an  idea  of  the  hour?" 

"Oh — half-past  twelve,  perhaps." 

"At  half-past  twelve  last  night,  David  Prentiss 
left  this  apartment.  He  went  down  in  the  ele- 
vator?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"And — just  be  patient,  Fry."  Hitchin  smiled 
disarmingly.  "Did  the  young  man  wear  from  this 
apartment  the  clothes  he  wore  into  this  apart- 
ment?" 

It  was  perfectly  apparent  to  Anthony  that  the 
wretched  fool  had  taken  what  he  fancied  to  be 
a  scent  of  some  sort;  it  was  equally  clear  that, 
in  his  present  state  of  mind,  Anthony  would  answer 
perhaps  three  more  questions  and  then,  losing  him- 
self completely,  would  smash  the  flower-vase  over 
Hobart  Hitchin's  shining  bald  head  solely  as  a 
salve  for  his  nerves ! 

Doubtless  the  long  coat  and  the  down-pulled 
cap  had  started  him  off — they  were  sufficiently 
mysterious-looking  to  impress  a  less  sensitive 
imagination  than  Hitchin's.  Whatever  troubled 
the  crime  specialist,  David  Prentiss  would  have  to 


THE  WEB  177 

be  lied  out  of  here  in  detail,  lied  home  and  lied 
to  bed. 

"Hitchin,"  said  Anthony,  "Heaven  alone  knows 
what  concern  of  yours  it  can  be,  but  the  Prentiss 
boy — the  son  of  an  old  friend  of  mine  who  has 
seen  better  days — came  back  here  with  me  last 
night  for  some  things,  cast-offs,  I  had  promised 
his  unfortunate  father.  We  met  him  on  the  street 
on  the  way  home." 

"Just  around  the  corner,"  supplied  Johnson 
Boiler,  who  was  growing  steadily  more  anxious  to 
speak  his  mind  to  Anthony  about  the  Mrs.  Boiler 
matter. 

"And  having  come  upstairs  with  us  and  having 
selected  the  things  he  thought  his  father  would 
like  best,"  Anthony  went  on,  "they  were  wrapped 
in  a  bundle  or  ordinary  brown  paper,  tied  up  with 
ordinary,  non-mysterious,  crime-proof  string  and 
carried  out  by  David,  who,  I  have  no  doubt  at  all, 
reached  home  within  half  an  hour,  gave  the  clothes 
to  his  father,  said  his  prayers  and  went  to  bed 
without  further  ado.  If  there  is  anything  else 
you'd  like  to  know,  ask!" 

Hobart  Hitchin  had  not  blinked.  Now  he 
smiled  strangely  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 


1 78  IN  AND  OUT 

"At  least,"  said  he,  "you  have  perfected  the 
story,  haven't  you?" 

itT >» 

"And  now,"  Mr.  Hitchin  broke  in  incisively, 
"let  us  consider  the  facts!  We  will  take  them, 
one  by  one,  and  I  beg  that  you  will  listen.  Item 
one:  I  sat  in  the  lobby  downstairs  until  seven- 
teen minutes  of  one  o'clock  this  morning, 
Fry.  No  David  Prentiss  passed  me,  going  out. 
Nobody  left  this  hotel  with  a  bundle  or  a 
bag!" 

"You  didn't  see  him,"  Anthony  said. 

"Because  he  was  not  there  I  Listen,  please,  and 
do  not  interrupt,  Fry.  I  like  you,  or  I  should  not 
be  here.  I  wish  to  help  you,  if  such  a  thing  is 
possible,  or  I  should  have  gone  at  once  to  the 
police,"  said  the  remarkable  Mr.  Hitchin.  "You, 
like  many  a  man  before  you,  forget  perfectly 
plain  details.  In  this  case,  you  have  forgotten 
that  my  apartment  is  directly  beneath  yours — that 
the  elevators  here  have  latticed  gates,  so  that  one 
can  see  from  any  floor  whoever  may  be  passing  in 
one  of  the  cars — that  sound  travels  perfectly  in 
this  building  when  the  street  is  quiet,  as  at  night 
So  to  get  to  item  two.  About  two  o'clock  this 


THE  WEB  179 

morning  there  was  the  sound  of  a  heavy  fall  in 
this  very  room!" 

Johnson  Boiler  was  grasping  the  trend  more 
rapidly  than  was  Anthony,  and  he  was  growing 
less  comfortable. 

"I  fell!"  he  said. 

"Did  you  really?"  asked  the  demon  detective. 
"Yet — you're  in  that  room,  I  take  it?  Yet  you 
got  out  of  bed  immediately  after  and  walked  in 
here;  I  heard  your  step.  Don't  flush,  Boiler!  It 
takes  practice  to  carry  out  a  thing  of  this  kind 
and  whatever  the  motive  may  have  been,  you 
gentlemen  are  not  old  hands.  And  so  to  item 
three :  it  must  have  been  about  four  when  a  police- 
man came  to  this  door.  Why?" 

"There  was  supposed  to  be  a  burglar  here.  It 
was  a  false  alarm,"  Anthony  said,  less  col- 
lectedly. 

Hitchin  lighted  the  pipe  he  had  filled  and  smiled. 

"That  is  the  tale  they  tell  in  the  office,"  he 
said.  "I  confess  that  that  detail  puzzles  me  and 
as  yet  I  haven't  had  time  to  get  inside  information 
from  my  good  friend  our  police  captain.  How- 
ever, we  can  well  call  this  detail  immaterial  and 
pass  to  item  four." 


180"  IN  AND  OUT 

He  gazed  into  the  blue  cloud  of  smoke  and 
smiled  again. 

"The  woman  in  the  case!"  he  said  in  a  deep, 
bass  voice. 

"There  was  no  woman!"  Anthony  exploded. 
"And " 

"The  Frenchwoman,  Fry!"  Hitchin  corrected. 

"Well,  she " 

"Don't  explain  her,"  said  Hobart  Hitchin. 
"Let  us  see  just  what  happened  when  she  was 
about.  She  came  after  daylight.  She  passed 
through  the  office  downstairs  so  suddenly  that  no- 
body was  able  to  stop  her,  and  she  knew  where 
to  come.  She  was  in  the  elevator  naming  her  floor 
to  the  man — who  supposed  her  to  have  been 
passed  by  the  office — perhaps  two  seconds  after 
she  entered  the  house  itself.  She  came  directly 
to  this  apartment,  Fry,  and  almost  immediately 
she  burst  into  hysterical  weeping!" 

His  eyes  were  boring  again  and  Hobart  Hitchin 
also  pointed  the  stem  of  his  pipe  accusingly  at 
Anthony. 

"Fry,"  he  said,  "what  did  that  girl  see,  evidently 
at  the  end  of  the  corridor,  which  produced  that 
outburst  of  grief?" 


THE  WEB  181 

"Nothing,"  Anthony  said  thickly. 

"There  was  nothing  to  cause  her  acute  grief?" 

"No,  and " 

"Wait!  She  wept  all  the  way  down  in  the 
elevator;  I  saw  her  myself!  She  wept  so  violently 
when  she  reached  the  street  that  an  officer  ap- 
proached her — and  she  fled  from  him  and  disap- 
peared." 

It  was  high  time  to  say  something  and  to  say  it 
well.  Dignity  had  always  served  Anthony,  and 
while  it  was  an  effort  he  eyed  Hobart  Hitchin 
coldly. 

"Hitchin,"  said  he,  "it  would  be  quite  possible, 
believe  me,  to  soothe  your  feverish  mind  by  telling 
you  the  perfectly  simple  errand  on  which  that  girl 
came,  but  I'm  damned  if  I'll  do  it!  Some  things 
are  too  ridiculous,  and  you're  one  of  them.  If 
there  are  any  further  questions  you  wish  to  ask 
about  my  personal  affairs,  will  you  please  leave 
them  unasked?  And  if  there  are  other  things  over 
which  you  wish  to  rave,  don't  let  me  detain  you 
here." 

He  fastened  his  best  majestic  gaze  on  Hobart 
Hitchin,  yet  Hitchin  only  laughed  his  low,  sinister 
laugh. 


1 82  IN  AND  OUT 

"You're  a  curious  customer,  Fry,"  he  said, 
leaning  back  comfortably.  "I  had  hoped  before 
this  that  your  nerve  would  have  broken  and — 
however,  listen  to  this  little  theory  of  mine.  The 
boy  knew  something,  I  can't  say  what,  about  you, 
something  which  had  to  be  suppressed  at  any  cost. 
You  brought  him  here,  I  can't  say  on  what  pretext, 
but  the  boy  fancied  that  all  was  well.  Perhaps 
you  promised  him  money;  I'm  inclined  to  believe 
that,  for  the  girl  came,  evidently  by  appointment, 
ready  to  travel.  Doesn't  take  much  deduction  to 
guess  that  they  were  going  to  be  married  with 
the  money  you  gave  him,  does  it?  She  came  and 
she  saw  what  happened,  and  then " 

"Well,  what  had  happened?"  Anthony  almost 
shouted. 

"That's  what  I'm  waiting  for  you  to  tell  me, 
so  that  I  can  give  you  a  helping  hand,"  said  the 
crime  student.  "And  while  I'm  waiting,  and 
while  you're  still  plainly  convinced  that  I  know 
nothing  at  all,  let  me  ask  you  one  question  again : 
did  the  Prentiss  boy  leave  here  with  the  clothes 
he  wore  when  he  entered?" 

"Yes!"  Anthony  said  wearily. 

With  a  sudden  startling  slap,  the  fat  brief-case 


THE  WEB  183 

was  placed  upon  the  table  and  its  straps  undone. 
And  there  was  another  slap  and  Hobart  Hitchin 
cried: 

"Then   explain  these,   Fry!     Explain   these!" 

There  can  be  no  denying  that  Anthony's  mouth 
opened  and  that  his  eyes  grew  rounder.  Before 
him,  spread  upon  the  table,  lay  David's  trousers! 

"Well,  those  —  those "  he  stammered. 

"Where  did  you  get  them?" 

"From  the  dumbwaiter,  where  you  placed  them 
so  very  quietly,  so  very  cautiously,  so  very  early 
this  morning!"  said  Hobart  Hitchin,  with  his 
devilish  laugh.  "You  even  went  so  far  as  to  run 
the  thing  down,  so  that  it  would  be  emptied  at 
once,  didn't  you?  But  you  didn't  happen  to  look 
down!  You  didn't  see  me  take  the  whole  suit 
from  the  dumbwaiter  as  it  passed  my  door." 

He  leaned  back  triumphantly  and  puffed  his 
pipe  and  for  a  little  there  was  a  thick  tangible 
silence  in  Anthony's  living-room. 

More  than  once,  like  most  of  us,  Johnson  Boiler 
had  wondered  just  what  he  would  do  if  accused  of 
a  murder  of  which  he  was  entirely  innocent.  In 
a  fond  and  confident  way  he  had  pictured  himself 
sneering  at  the  captain  of  police,  impressing  him 


1 84  IN  AND  OUT 

despite  himself  as  Johnson  Boiler  not  only  estab- 
lished his  alibi  in  a  few  crisp  sentences,  but  also 
directed  the  stupid  detective  force  toward  the  true 
criminal. 

At  present,  however,  he  discovered  that  he  was 
downright  scared.  Unless  one  of  them  rose  up 
and  told  about  Mary  and  then  called  her  in  to 
verify  the  truth,  it  seemed  that  Hobart  Hitchin, 
idiot  though  he  might  be,  had  established  some- 
thing of  a  case.  And  instead  of  sneering,  John- 
son Boiler  grew  redder  and  redder,  until  Hitchin 
said: 

"Ah,  you  know  all  about  it,  eh?  I  had  won- 
dered!" 

"Well,  cut  out  your  wondering!"  Johnson  Boi- 
ler said  roughly.  "Because " 

"I  wouldn't  talk  now,  if  I  were  you,"  said 
Hitchin,  kindly  enough.  "I'm  devoting  myself  to 
Fry.  Well,  Fry?" 

As  yet  Anthony  had  not  found  the  proper  line 
of  speech. 

"The  boy,  a  stranger,  comes  here  at  midnight," 
Hitchin  purred  relentlessly.  "There  is  a  heavy 
fall  at  two.  There  is  weeping  before  seven,  the 
weeping  of  a  strange  woman.  There  are  the 


THE  WEB  185 

boy's  clothes — the  rest  of  them  are  downstairs. 
So,  once  more — where  is  David  Prentiss?" 

He  waited,  and  Anthony  Fry  drew  a  long 
breath.  All  his  life  he  had  been  painfully  ad- 
dicted to  the  truth;  it  was  part  of  his  cherished 
and  spotless  reputation.  All  his  life  he  had 
shunned  fiction,  and  was  therefore  ignorant  of 
plot  technique.  So  he  did  fairly  well  in  smiling 
sourly  and  saying,  calmly  enough: 

"So  far  as  I  know,  David  is  about  starting  for 
his  work,  Hitchin.  The  thing  had  slipped  my 
mind  altogether,  but  I  remember  now  that  the 
boy  took  a  suit — a  blue  suit — for  himself  and 
changed  into  it  while  here.  That  outfit  was  de- 
cidedly shabby.  After  that  he  left,  and  as  to  the 
French  girl,  you  may  theorize  and  be  hanged, 
for  she  happens  to  be  none  of  your  infernal 
business,  and  she  has  no  connection  with 
David." 

"None,  eh?" 

"None  whatever!" 

Mr.  Hitchin  grinned  without  humor  and  ex- 
amined the  trousers  in  silence,  thinking,  and  later 
humming  to  himself.  He  smoothed  them  out  and 
then  folded  them  carefully,  finally  replacing  them 


1 86  IN  AND  OUT 

in  his  brief  case.     After  that  he  looked  at  An- 
thony. 

"If  I  were  you,  Fry,  I  should  tell  the  truth, 
and  let  me  help  you.  You  know,  and  I  know, 
that  the  boy  never  left  this  apartment.  Well?" 

"Well?"  snapped  Anthony. 

"And  you  know  and  I  know  that  what  remains 
of  him  is  still  here,  and " 

"Are  you  accusing  me  of  murder?"  Anthony 
demanded  savagely. 

"I  have  been  doing  that  for  some  time." 

"Hitchin,  you're  the  most  utter  ass  that  ever 
breathed  I  You " 

"Doubtless,  but  at  the  same  time  murder  is 
murder,  and  murder  will  out,  Fry!"  the  extraor- 
dinary crime  student  said  steadily,  as  he  arose. 
"Now  hear  me  quietly.  I  shall  do  nothing — you 
understand,  nothing — until  afternoon,  unless  cir- 
cumstances render  action  imperative.  You  know 
where  we  stand;  I  know  where  we  stand.  I  want 
to  help  you,  to  come  to  the  unfortunate  end  quietly 
if  nothing  else.  I  shall  be  in  my  apartment  all 
morning.  Think  it  over.  Talk  it  over  with  Boi- 
ler. Then,  when  you  have  decided  that  you  need 
help,  come  and  see  me."  He  took  up  his  case 


THE  WEB  187 

and  faced  Anthony  squarely.  "At  least  I  can  see 
that  you  obtain  a  privilege  or  two  in  the  local 
prison,"  he  concluded.  "Good-by." 

"Good  Lord!"  breathed  Anthony  Fry. 

"And  in  going,"  said  Hobart  Hitchin,  "let  me 
leave  just  one  caution  behind  me,  Fry.  Have 
nothing  shipped  from  this  apartment  until  we  have 
talked  again!" 

Then  Mr.  Hitchin,  courageously  turning  his 
back  upon  the  pair,  moved  out  of  the  flat,  leaving 
Johnson  Boiler  and  his  oldest  friend  in  a  state  of 
partial  paralysis.  Anthony  recovered  in  perhaps 
three  seconds. 

"That — that  infernal  idiot!"  said  Anthony. 
"Why,  the  lunatic  asylums  have  saner  people  in 
strait-jackets!" 

"Maybe  they  have,"  Johnson  Boiler  said 
hoarsely,  "but  all  the  same,  many  a  good  man 
has  sat  in  the  electric  chair  on  the  strength  of 
circumstantial  evidence  not  nearly  so  good  as  he 
made  out!" 

"Well,  are  you  afraid  of  sitting  there?"  An- 
thony snapped. 

Johnson  Boiler  mopped  his  brow. 

"Maybe  not,"  he  said.     "But  with  the  things 


1 88  IN  AND  OUX 

he's  pieced  together  he  can  go  to  the  police  and 
have  'em  around  here  in  ten  minutes !  That  son- 
of-a-gun  can  have  you  and  me  locked  up  without 
bail,  and — that'd  be  nice,  huh?" 

"He  can  do  nothing  of  the  sort!" 

"He  can  unless  you  show  him  a  David  Pren- 
tissl"  Mr.  Boiler  urged.  "He  can  unless  we  have 
the  girl  out  and  tell  him  the  truth  and  have  her 
corroborate  it !  Are  you  going  to  do  that  ?" 

Anthony  Fry  hugged  his  head  for  an  instant; 
it  was  really  aching  now. 

"No!"  he  said. 

"It's  better  than  being  jugged,  Anthony,"  sug- 
gested Johnson  Boiler.  "You  know,  I've  got 
some  reputation  as  well  as  you,  and — say,  what 
did  you  mean  by  introducing  her  as  my  wife?" 

"Was  there  anything  else  to  do?" 

"Why  not  as  your  sister?" 

"Because  Hitchin  knows  perfectly  well  that  I 
haven't  a  sister,  of  course.  Don't  fume  and  thresh 
around  like  that,  Johnson;  it  bothers  me." 

"But  if  my  wife  ever  hears  of  it " 

"She  never  will,"  said  Anthony,  without  great 
concern,  "unless  you  have  Hitchin  for  dinner  some 
night  and  ask  him  to  tell  about  it." 


THE  WEB  189, 

"And  Wilkins — he  heard  it,  tool" 

"Well,  I  shall  instruct  Wilkins  not  to  mention 
it,  later  on,"  Anthony  sighed.  "Now  quiet  down, 
will  you,  and  let  us  think  how " 

"Have  you  decided  how  to  get  me  out  of  here?" 
Mary  asked  brightly,  entering  without  a  sound. 

Anthony  stayed  the  bitter  words  that  were  in 
his  very  throat. 

"We  have  been  accused  of  murdering  David 
Prentiss!"  he  said. 

"Really?" 

"Very  really  indeed!" 

"Isn't  that  funny?"  Mary  laughed.  "Isn't  it 
perfectly  ridiculous?" 

"It's  a  scream!"  said  Johnson  Boiler.  "About 
the  time  we  both  get  pinched  it  may  be  up  to 
you  to " 

"Tell  the  truth?"  Mary  said  quickly. 

"Just  that!" 

"I'll  never  do  it!"  the  girl  cried  passionately. 
"No!  Not  even  to  save  both  of  youl  I'm  not 
here  through  any  fault  of  my  own,  and — and — • 
why,  a  man  who  could  suggest  such  a  thing " 

"He's  not  suggesting  it;  he's  just  excited,"  An- 
thony said  miserably,  "Now,  suppose  we  try, 


190  IN  AND  OUT 

just  once  more,  to  sit  down  sanely  and  devise  the 
way  of  getting  you  safely  home,  Miss  Mary?" 

"And  soon!"  said  the  girl,  somewhat  fever- 
ishly. "If  I  could  have  gotten  home  while  it  was 
dark  Felice  could  have  smuggled  me  in  and — and 
lied  about  it,  if  necessary.  But  it  isn't  night  any 
longer;  it's  nine  o'clock  or  past  nine,  and " 

She  said  no  more.  Lips  parted,  and  eyes,  all 
in  an  instant,  thoroughly  horrified,  she  stood  and 
listened;  and  from  the  door  of  Anthony's  apart- 
ment a  thumping  sounded  once  more  and  a  voice 
said: 

"Hurry  up!     Open  that  door!" 

"Robert  again!"  Mary  gasped. 

"Is  that  possible?"  Anthony  gasped,  bouncing 
to  his  feet. 

It  was  not  only  possible.  It  was  the  solid  fact, 
for  Wilkins,  muttering  as  he  fumbled  at  the  latch, 
was  mentioning  Mr.  Vining's  name  and  bidding 
him  be  patient  for  an  instant — and  Mary,  with  a 
little  scream,  had  made  another  of  her  projectile 
disappearances  down  the  corridor — and  into  the 
room  came  Robert  Vining! 

He  was  far  from  being  the  same  collected  young 
man.  His  whole  person  seemed  to  have  been 


THE  WEB  191 

towsled  by  some  overwhelming  excitement.  His 
eyes  belonged  in  the  head  of  a  madman,  and  his 
hands  waved  irresponsibly  as  he  rushed  at  An- 
thony Fry  and  clutched  his  coat  and  panted: 

"Fry!    You'll  have  to  help  me!" 

"Help  you— how?" 

"You  know  more  people  than  I — you  know 
people  everywhere,  Anthony !  You'll  have  to  help 
me  by  calling  them  up  and  having  them  call  up 
their  friends,  you  know.  That — that  may  do  some 
good.  I — I  don't  know !  I  don't  know  what  I'm 
talking  about,  Anthony!  I  feel  as  if  I'd  gone 
crazy!" 

"You  act  very  much  that  way,"  Anthony  said 
quietly.  "What's  wrong?" 

Robert  Vining  gaped  at  him  and  then  laughed 
quite  insanely. 

"Wrong !"  he  shouted.  "Wrong!  Mary's  dis- 
appeared!" 

"Mary " 

"You  don't  know  Mary — no,  of  course  not!" 
young  Mr.  Vining  rushed  on.  "She — she's  the 
girl  I'm  going  to  marry,  Anthony!  Yes,  I'm  en- 
gaged, although  it  hasn't  been  announced  yet. 
I've  been  engaged  for  a  week  now,  and  we — great 


192  IN  AND  OUT 

Heaven  I  I  can't  think.  I — why,  Anthony,  I  was 
talking  to  her  even  at  dinner  last  night  and  there 
was  never  a  hint  that  she  even  meant  to  go  out 
of  the  house.  In  fact,  when  we  parted,  she  seemed 
rather  bored  at  the  idea  of  staying  home  and — 
why,  not  a  soul  knows  even  when  she  left  the 
house  I  She's  gone,  Fry!  She's  just  gone!" 

A  coarse  nature  ever,  Johnson  Boiler  winked 
at  Anthony  and  turned  his  back! 

"Mary!  Why,  my  little  Mary  out  alone  at 

night "  young  Robert  choked.  "She's  just 

twenty,  Anthony — a  delicate,  beautiful  girl  like 
that  disappearing  from  the  most  beautiful,  the 
happiest  home  in  all  New  York !  Why,  from  the 
day  she  was  born,  Dalton  never  spared  her  a 
penny  to " 

"Eh?  What  Dalton?"  Anthony  asked  sud- 
denly. 

"What?  Theodore  Dalton,  of  course.  He's 
her  father — Dalton,  the  patent-medicine  man, 
Anthony.  You  must  have  met  him?  You  know 
Theodore  Dalton?" 

Curiously,  fortunately  enough,  sheer  nervous 
tension  jerked  him  away  from  Anthony  Fry  just 
then  and  set  him  to  pacing  the  floor,  a  man  dis- 


THE  WEB  193 

tracted,  a  man  unseeing,  a  man  who  recked  of 
nothing  on  earth  beyond  his  terrible  and  immediate 
grief. 

And  this  was  very  well  indeed,  for  Anthony 
was  making  himself  conspicuous! 

Anthony  took  three  backward  steps  and  looked 
at  the  unconscious  Robert  much  as  if  the  young 
man  had  branded  himself  a  leper.  He  looked  at 
Johnson  Boiler,  too,  although  his  eyes  were  blank 
— and  then,  one  hand  on  his  head,  Anthony  stag- 
gered straight  out  of  the  room  and  into  the  cor- 
ridor; and,  having  gone  that  far,  he  turned  and 
staggered  down  to  the  window  at  the  end  of  the 
window-seat,  where  he  collapsed  much  as  if  the 
bones  had  been  whisked  from  his  long,  slender 
legs! 

Here  Johnson  Boiler,  following,  found  him  five 
seconds  later.  Mr.  Boiler,  who  was  beginning  to 
feel  downright  peculiar  himself  with  Vining 
threshing  about  the  living-room  and  babbling  in- 
coherent agony,  shook  his  old  friend  with  no 
gentle  hand  as  he  demanded: 

"Say,  you!  What  is  it  now?  What  in  blazes 
got  you  that  time,  Anthony?  Are  you  going  to 
have  a  fit?" 


i94  IN  AND  OUT 

"Johnson!"  Anthony  said  feebly,  clutching 
coldly  at  Mr.  Boiler's  plump  hand.  "Oh,  John- 
son!" 

'What?" 

"Her  father!  She's  the  daughter  of  Theodore 
Dalton,  Johnson!  She's  the  daughter  of  the  man 
they  call  the  liniment  king!" 

"Yes?"  said  Johnson  Boiler. 

The  icy  hand  closed  tighter  about  his  own,  rous- 
ing something  almost  akin  to  sympathy  in  Johnson 
Boiler's  bosom  and  causing  him  to  lay  a  soothing 
hand  on  Anthony's  shoulder — for  so  do  men  cling 
to  a  raft  in  mid-ocean. 

"Johnson,"  Anthony  Fry  said  piteously.  "I've 
kidnaped  the  daughter  of  the  only  man  in  the 
world  who  can  ruin  me,  and  he'll  do  it!" 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  OTHER  LADY 

IT  was  plain  enough  to  Johnson  Boiler. 
Anthony,  poor  devil,  was  raving  at  last! 
Since  there  was  no  one  likely  to  ruin  Anthony, 
the  strain  had  developed  the  illusion  that — or  was 
it  an  illusion?     Anthony  had  calmed  these  last 
few  seconds,  clinging  childlike  to  his  friend;  his 
eyes  denoted  the  general  state  of  mind  of  a  hunted 
doe,  but  there  was  nothing  more  abnormal. 

"Say,    kid,"    Johnson    Boiler    began    kindly. 

"You " 

"You  don't  understand,"  Anthony  said  hoarsely 
but  more  quietly.  "I've  never  told  you  about  the 
Dalton  matter,  because  IVe  tried  my  best  to  for- 
get the  interview — but  Dalton  is  the  man  who 
controls  virtually  the  whole  proprietary  liniment 
market,  barring  only  Fry's  Imperial.  My — my 
liniment,"  said  Anthony,  and  there  was  an  affec- 
tionate note  in  his  voice  which  Johnson  Boiler 

19$ 


196  IN  AND  OUT 

had  never  heard  before  in  connection  with  the 
Imperial,  "is  the  only  one  he  has  failed  to  ac- 
quire." 

"Yes?"  said  Johnson  Boiler,  with  rising  interest. 

Anthony  smiled  wanly,  dizzily. 

"Well,  Dalton  came  to  the  office  one  day  about 
five  years  ago,  having  made  an  appointment  to 
meet  me  personally  there.  He  wanted  to  buy  us 
out,  and  I  wouldn't  hear  of  it — partly  sentiment 
and  partly  because  he  didn't  want  to  pay  enough. 
Then  he  tried  his  usual  tactics  of  threatening  to 
drive  Imperial  off  the  market,  and  I  sat  down 
and  pointed  out  to  him  just  what  it  would  cost  and 
what  it  would  gain  him.  He's  a  hard  devil,  John- 
son, and  he  was  pretty  angry,  yet  he  saw  the 
reason  in  what  I  told  him." 

"Go  on,"  said  Johnson  Boiler. 

"We  parted  on  rather  curious  terms,"  groaned 
Anthony.  "One  might  call  it  an  armed  truce,  I 
suppose.  He  seemed  to  be  willing  to  let  matters 
rest  as  they  were,  and  he  has  done  just  that  ever 
since;  but  he  told  me  in  so  many  words  that  if 
ever  I  tried  to  break  into  his  particular  market, 
if  ever,  for  any  cause,  I  offended  him  in  any 
he'd  sail  in  and  advertise  me  out  of  business. 


THE  OTHER  LADY  197 

"Can  he  do  it?" 

"He  can  do  it,"  Anthony  said,  with  pained  con- 
viction. "He  can  do  it,  because  he's  able  to  spend 
a  million  where  I  spend  ten  thousand,  and  once 
he  starts  Fry's  Imperial  Liniment  is  as  dead  as 
Julius  Cassar.  And  when  he  learns  about  this 
thing " 

"He — he  might  never  learn,"  Johnson  Boiler 
said,  without  even  trying  to  be  convincing. 

Anthony  laughed  forlornly. 

"He'll  learn;  I'm  done  for!"  said  he.  "It's 
as  good  as  done  and  over  with  now,  Johnson. 
Almost  every  cent  I  have  in  the  world  is  invested 
in  the  firm,  you  know,  and  once  that  goes  to 
pieces  I — why,  great  Heaven,  Johnson!  I'll  have 
to  get  out  and  work  for  a  living!" 

Johnson  Boiler,  for  a  little,  said  nothing  at 
all.  Coming  from  another  man,  he  would  have 
fancied  the  statements  largely  exaggeration  and 
imagination;  coming  from  Anthony  he  knew  that 
they  were  mostly  solid  truth. 

"Well,  I  told  you  in  the  first  place  that  kid 
meant  trouble,"  he  muttered. 

"You  have  a  prophetic  soul!"  Anthony  sighed. 

"Trouble  isn't  the  word!"  Mr.  Boiler  mused 


198  IN  AND  OUT 

further.  "If  you  tell  the  truth,  according  to  your 
figuring,  the  old  gentleman  will  ruin  you — but  that 
doesn't  matter  much,  because  when  you've  told  the 
truth  it's  a  dead  sure  thing  Vining  will  let  the 
daylight  through  you,  so  that  you'll  have  no  need 
for  money  anyway.  And  if  you  go  on  trying  to 
keep  it  all  dark  and  succeed  in  doing  it,  that 
Hitchin  idiot  will  have  us  both  jailed  for  murder 
— and  we'll  have  to  produce  a  David  Prentiss  be- 
fore we  get  out!" 

Anthony,  gazing  fixedly  at  him,  felt  hope  that 
hardly  dared  to  be  creeping  into  his  eyes. 

"Johnson,  could  we  get  hold  of  a  boy  some- 
where and  bribe  him?"  he  asked. 

"To  do  what?" 

"To  go  into  a  police  court  and  swear  that  he 
was  David  Prentiss  and  that  he  came  here  last 
night  and  left  again  about  half-past  twelve,"  said 
the  model  citizen,  without  even  reflecting  that  it 
involved  perjury.  "If  we  could  manage  that  it 
might  be  best  of  all  to  let  Hitchin  go  ahead." 

"Stick  you  and  me  in  jail?"  Johnson  Boiler 
asked  harshly. 

"Better  that  than  risk " 

"I  don't  see  it!"  the  less  chivalrous  gentleman 


THE  OTHER  LADY  199 

snapped.  "There's  nothing  inside  urging  me  to 
go  to  jail  for  anybody's  sake,  even  overnight. 
And  another  thing,  I've  got  a  wife,  Anthony! 
Just  consider  where  this  would  put  me  with  Bea- 
trice, and  how  dead  certain  it  would  be,  with 
Hitchin  airing  his  views  and  conclusions,  that  he'd 
mention  the  lady  you  introduce  as  Mrs.  Boiler!" 

"But " 

"But  nothing!"  Johnson  Boiler  said,  his  per- 
sonal trouble  coming  uppermost  again.  "That's 
the  worst  break  you've  made  so  far,  Anthony! 
That  Mrs.  Boiler  business  is  likely  to  cause 
me " 

He  shut  his  teeth  on  the  end  of  the  sentence. 
Wilkins,  white  and  distressed,  was  coming  down 
the  corridor  with  what  looked  rather  like  kan- 
garoo leaps.  He  came  to  David's  door  and 
stopped,  turning  the  knob.  He  entered — and  im- 
mediately he  left  the  room  again  and  sped  to 
Anthony. 

"She  wishes  to  see  you  again,  sir!" 

Anthony  jerked  obediently  to  his  feet  and  laid 
a  cold  hand  on  Johnson  Boiler's. 

"Get  up  there  and  keep  Vining  busy,"  he  said. 
"That's  all.  Hurry!" 


200  IN  AND  OUT 

Johnson  Boiler  shuffled  back  to  the  living-room, 
where  the  unfortunate  paced  up  and  down  and 
wrung  his  hands.  Anthony,  waiting  tremulously 
until  he  heard  both  their  voices,  hurried  into 
Mary's  room — and  looked  at  her  with  a  new, 
dreadful  terror.  She  was  no  longer  a  merely 
unfortunate,  unknown  young  woman  whose  good 
name  he  had  placed  in  considerable  jeopardy; 
Mary,  by  now,  had  become  the  potential  stick 
of  dynamite  that  bade  fair  to  blast  him  out  of  the 
Lasande,  out  of  his  regular  life,  out  of  everything 
but  the  chance  to  sally  forth  and  hunt  a  job! 

"Well?    Well?"  she  asked  swiftly. 

"Yes?" 

"Is  he  gone?     Is  he  gone?"  Mary  cried. 

"He  will — go  shortly  I"  Anthony  said  thickly. 
"You — you  are  Theodore  Dalton's  daughter  I" 

Mary  stared  at  him. 

"So  you've  discovered  that?" 

"He — in  a  business  way "  Anthony  mut- 
tered vaguely. 

"Yes,  that  was  my  reason  for  coming  here," 
Mary  said,  cheerfully  enough.  "I've  heard  him 
speak  of  you— oh,  no,  not  very  flatteringly;  I 
don't  think  he  likes  you,  I've  heard  him  aay  that 


THE  OTHER  LADY  201 

some  day  he'd  wreck  you,  when  he  was  ready;  and 
I  was  very  curious  indeed  to  see  what  sort  of  man 
you  were  and  whether  you  were  nice  enough  to 
plead  for,  if  he  ever  started.  I  don't  like  dad  to 
wreck  people." 

Anthony  nodded. 

"And  that  was  another  reason  why  I  was  afraid 
to  tell  the  truth  last  night,"  said  Mary.  "If  you 
were  business  enemies — bitter  ones,  I  mean — and 
you  found  out  that  you  had  father's  daughter 
here — well,  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  getting 
Bobby  away,  has  it?" 

"He'll  go  presently." 

"Presently  isn't  soon  enough!"  Mary  informed 
her  captor.  "I  sent  for  Wilkins  to  tell  you  that 
he  must  go  now!" 

"But  the  boy  is  distracted  and >— " 

"About  me?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  he  really  suffering?"  Mary  asked. 

"I  think  so." 

The  girl  considered  very  thoughtfully  indeed. 

"Maybe  I'd  better  go  out  there  and  quiet  him, 
poor  little  boy!"  she  said  staggeringly.  "He'll 
believe  me  if  I  tell  him  the  truth  and " 


202  IN  AND  OUT 

"I  wouldn't  do  that!"  Anthony  exploded.  "He's 
wildly  excited  now,  and  the  truth  might  not  appeal 
to  him  as  reasonable." 

Again  Mary  hesitated,  causing  his  blood  to 
congeal. 

"Very  well.  Then  get  rid  of  him  now!"  she 
said  sharply.  "If  he  ever  came  down  here  and 
found  me,  all  the  explaining  in  the  world  would 
never  help!" 

"He  will  not,"  Anthony  said  impatiently. 
"Bob  isn't  the  sort  to  stray  about  one's  apartment 
and " 

And  from  the  corridor  came : 

"She's  gone,  Boiler!     Johnson,  she's  gone!" 

And  steps  came  in  their  direction,  too,  and 
while  Mary  Dalton  turned  to  flame,  Anthony 
Fry  turned  to  ice!  He  was  coming  and  coming 
steadily,  and  the  door  was  open  fully  two  inches. 
He  was  abreast  of  them  now  and  faithful  Johnson 
Boiler  apparently  was  with  him,  for  they  heard — 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  go  wandering  around  like 
that,  old  man.  Come  back  and  sit  down  and  we'll 
talk  it  over." 

"I'll  sit  here  on  the  window-seat !"  Robert  Vin- 
ing  panted. 


THE  OTHER  LADY  203 

"Don't  do  that,"  Mr.  Boiler  protested.  "No, 
not  there,  Bobby!  That's  weak  and  likely  to  go 
down  in  a  heap  with  you  I" 

The  steps  ceased.  Through  ten  terrible  seconds 
Anthony  Fry  and  lovely  Mary  stood  listening  to 
the  panting  of  the  afflicted  youth.  Then: 

"My  God,  Johnson!"  he  cried  wildly.  "I— I 
want  to  look  over  the  whole  world  at  once  for 
her!  I  want  to  look  into  every  room  in  New 
York!  I  want  to  look  into  every  room  in  this 
place  and  then  tear  out  and  look " 

"Yes,  but  you  couldn't  do  that,"  Johnson  Boiler 
assured  him  soothingly.  "Now,  cut  out  the  mad- 
house talk,  old  man,  and  come  back.  Have  one  of 
Anthony's  good,  strong  cigars  and  I'll  dig  out  that 
brandy  he  keeps  for  his  best  friends.  Don't  go 
nosing  around  these  rooms !"  said  Johnson  Boiler, 
and  simultaneously  they  caught  the  shiver  in  his 
voice  and  saw  the  door  move  as  Vining's  hand 
landed  on  the  knob.  "Just  control  yourself  and 
come  back." 

Robert  Vining  laughed  hideously  and  help- 
lessly. 

"I  suppose  I'm  making  an  ass  of  myself!"  said 
his  weak  voice.  "I  can't  help  it!  On  my  soul,  I 


204  IN  AND  OUT 

can't  help  it.  Give  me  a  shot  of  the  brandy, 
though,  and  maybe  I'll  steady  a  bit!" 

Something  like  one  hundred  years  passed;  then 
the  hand  slid  from  the  door  and  they  could  hear 
Johnson  Boiler  leading  the  sufferer  gently  away 
from  the  shock  of  his  whole  lifetime.  Mary,  her 
eyes  closed  for  a  moment,  gripped  herself  and 
spoke  very  softly : 

"Mr.  Fry,  if — if  you  don't  get  that  boy  out  of 
here  and  then  find  a  way  of  sending  me  home — 
if  you  don't  do  it  instantly,  I'm  going  out  there 
to  Bob  and  tell  him  that  you  brought  me  here  and 
kept  me  here  all  night  against  my  will  I  After 
that,  whatever  happens,  happens!" 

Life  returned  to  Anthony's  frozen  legs. 

"I  will  go!"  he  managed  to  say,  and  he 
went. 

The  brandy  was  already  within  Robert  Vining, 
yet  it  seemed  to  have  made  small  difference  in  his 
condition.  The  young  man's  eyes  were  wild  and 
rolling;  they  rested  on  Anthony  for  a  moment  as 
if  they  had  seen  him  before  but  could  not  quite 
place  him. 

"You — you've  been  telephoning,"  he  said. 

"Not  yet,"  said  Anthony,   "but  if  you'll  run 


THE  OTHER  LADY  205 

along  and  do  your  share,  I'll  think  up  ways  of 
helping  you." 

"My  share?"  Vining  echoed. 

Mentally,  he  was  not  more  than  half  himself. 
Anthony  Fry,  therefore,  grew  very  firm  and  very 
stern,  pleasantly  certain  that  Robert  was  paying 
no  heed  to  his  pallor  or  the  uncontrollable  shake 
that  had  come  to  his  hands. 

"If  the  girl  has  really  disappeared,"  he  said 
steadily,  "your  part  is  not  to  be  sitting  here  and 
whining  for  help,  Robert.  Why  don't  you  get  out 
and  hustle  and  see  if  you  can't  get  track  of  her? 
Have  you  gone  to  all  her  friends?" 

"Eh?  No!" 

"Then  go  now!"  said  Anthony  Fry.  "You 
know  her  girl  friends?  Get  after  the  most  in- 
timate at  first — and  get  about  it!" 

Here  he  scowled,  and  Robert  Vining,  rising, 
shook  himself  together. 

"You're  right,  Anthony,"  he  said.  "I'm  an  ass; 
I've  lost  my  head  completely  this  last  hour.  I — 
I  caught  it  from  her  father,  I  think;  the  man's 
going  about  like  an  infuriated  bull,  swearing  to 
kill  everybody  in  the  world  if  Mary  isn't  returned 
and — but  you're  right,  old  chap.  Thank  you 


206  IN  AND  OUT 

for  steadying  me."  Robert  concluded  bravely. 
"Where's  my  hat?  I've  been  wearing  it  all  this 
time,  eh?  Good-by,  Anthony.  Good-by,  John- 
son." 

He  tried  to  smile  at  them — and  he  fled.  This 
time  it  was  Johnson  Boiler  who  turned  weak  at 
his  going.  Mr.  Boiler,  smiling  at  his  old  friend 
in  a  sickly,  greenish  way,  dropped  into  a  chair  and 
mopped  his  forehead. 

"Narrow  squeak,  Anthony!" 

"Yes !"  Anthony  agreed,  with  some  difficulty. 

"I  was  never  so  scared  as  that  in  all 
my  life!"  Johnson  Boiler  went  on  faintly.  "I 
thought  sure  I'd  have  to  watch  it  and — Anthony, 
it  turned  me  so  sick  I  could  hardly  stand  on  my 
feet!" 

"What  did?" 

"The  idea  of  seeing  you  shot  down  there,"  Mr. 
Boiler  said  with  a  shudder.  "Gad !  I  could  picture 
the  whole  thing,  Anthony!  I  could  see  him  start 
and  look  at  you  both — I  swear  I  could  see  him 
pull  a  gun  from  his  pocket  and  shoot!  I  could 
see  the  blood  spurting  out  of  your  forehead,  An- 
thony, and  hear  the  chicken  screech,  and  it  turned 
me  so  infernally  sick " 


THE  OTHER  LADY  207 

"Didn't  think  of  any  of  my  sensations,  did 
you?"  Anthony  asked  caustically. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact — no,  I  didn't  1"  muttered 
Johnson  Boiler,  with  another  great  shiver. 
"What  do  your  confounded  sensations  matter, 
anyway?  This  whole  affair  is  your  fault,  not 
mine !  You  deserve  whatever  you  get — I  don't ! 
You've  got  nobody  in  the  world  to  worry  over 
you,  but  I've  got  a  wife,  Anthony!" 

"You  have  mentioned  it  before." 

"And  I'm  likely  to  mention  it  again !"  said  Mr. 
Boiler  savagely.  "You  know,  Anthony,  I'm 
about  through  with  this  thing!  I'm  a  nervous 
man,  and  I  can  stand  about  so  much  suffering  of 
my  own,  but  I  don't  see  the  idea  of  taking  on  yours 
as  well.  And  what  is  more,  this  thing  of  introduc- 
ing this  girl  as  my  wife  is " 

"Well?  What  is  it?"  Mary  herself  asked 
very  crisply,  appearing  in  her  disconcertingly  and 
silent  fashion. 

Johnson  Boiler  smiled  feebly. 

"It's  very  flattering  in  some  ways,  Miss — Miss 
Dalton,  but  for  a  man  like  me,  who  loves  his  wife, 
you  know,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing " 

His  voice  thinned  out  and  died  before  the  de- 


208  IN  AND  OUT, 

cidedly  cold  light  in  Mary's  eye.  It  seemed  to 
Johnson  Boiler  that  she  had  a  low  opinion  of  him- 
self; and  when  she  looked  at  Anthony  he  noted 
that  she  had  a  low  opinion  of  Anthony  as  well. 

"Have  you  settled  it  yet!"  she  snapped. 

"The — er — means  of  getting  you  out?" 

"Is  there  anything  more  important?" 

"Ah — decidedly  not,"  Anthony  said  wearily. 
"Several  times,  I  think,  we've  attempted  a  council 
of  war,  and  we  may  as  well  try  it  again.  There 
will  be  no  interruptions  this  time,  I  think,  and  if 
we  all  put  our  minds  to  it " 

That  was  all.  As  on  several  other  similar  occa- 
sion, he  halted  because  of  sounds  from  the  door- 
way. It  seemed  to  Anthony,  indeed,  that  he  had 
heard  Wilkins  muttering  at  the  telephone  a  mo- 
ment ago,  too;  and  now  the  faithful  one  was  at 
the  door  and  working  over  the  latch. 

Mary's  ears  were  preternaturally  keen,  too; 
Mary  had  acquired  a  way  of  standing  erect  and 
poising  every  time  sounds  came  from  that  door. 
She  did  it  now,  remaining  on  tiptoe  until  the  oddest 
little  giggle  brought  Anthony  and  Johnson  Boiler 
to  their  feet  also. 

"That's  a  woman's  voice!"  Mary  whispered. 


THE  OTHER  LADY  209 

And  she  looked  about  wildly,  and,  since  there 
was  no  hope  of  escape  unseen  by  the  corridor,  her 
eyes  fell  upon  the  open  door  of  Johnson  Boiler's 
room.  Mary,  with  a  bound  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  a  young  deer,  was  across  the  room,  and 
the  door  clicked  behind  her  just  as  Wilkins,  smil- 
ing in  a  perturbed  and  mystified  way,  appeared  to 
announce : 

"A  lady,  sir,  who " 

Then  the  lady  had  passed  him,  moving  with  a 
speed  almost  equal  to  Mary's  own — a  lovely  lady, 
indeed,  with  great,  flashing  black  eyes  and  black 
hair — a  lady  all  life  and  spirit,  her  face  suffused 
just  now  with  a  great  joy.  Wilkins,  perceiving 
that  neither  gentleman  protested  after  gazing  at 
her  for  one  second,  backed  away  to  regions  of 
his  own,  and  the  spell  on  Johnson  Boiler  broke 
and  his  soul  found  vent  in  one  great,  glad  cry  of : 

"Bee!" 

"Pudgy-wudgy!"  cried  the  lady,  and  flew 
directly  into  Johnson  Boiler's  arms! 

Anthony  Fry  steadied  himself,  mentally  and 
physically,  and  the  little  smile  that  came  to  his 
lips  was  more  than  half  sneer — because  Johnson 
Boiler  and  his  lovely  wife  were  hugging  each  other 


210  IN  AND  OUT 

and  babbling  senselessly,  and  the  best  that  Anthony 
could  make  of  it  at  first  was  something  like : 

"And  was  it  lonely?  Oh,  Pudgy- wudgy,  was 
it  lonely?" 

Whereat  Johnson  Boiler  burbled: 

"Lonely,  sugar-plum?  Lonely,  sweetie?  Oh, 
Beetie-girl,  if  Pudgy-wudgy  could  tell  you  how 
lonely " 

Here  they  kissed  again,  three  times,  four  times, 
five  times ! 

"Hell!"  said  Anthony  Fry. 

"And  did  it  come  back?"  the  imbecile  that  had 
been  Johnson  Boiler  gurgled. 

The  dark,  exquisite  head  burrowed  deep  on  Boi- 
ler's shoulder. 

"Oh,  Pudgy!"  a  muffled  voice  protested,  almost 
tearfully.  "I  couldn't  do  it!  I  thought  I  could, 
but  I  couldn't,  sweetest!" 

"And  so  it  came  back  to  its  Pudgy-wudgy!" 
Johnson  Boiler  oozed  ecstatically.  "So  it  turned 
around  and  came  back  to  its  Pudgy!" 

Mrs.  Boiler  regarded  him  solemnly,  holding  him 
off  for  a  moment. 

"At  some  awful,  awful  place  north  of  Albany," 
ihe  said.  "I  couldn't  go  any  farther  and  I — I 


THE  OTHER  LADY  211 

was  going  to  wire  you  to  come  for  me,  Pudgy! 
And  then  I  thought  I'd  stay  at  their  terrible  hotel 
and  come  down  and  surprise  you,  and  you  weren't 
home  and  they  said  you'd  come  here!" 

"Yes!"  Johnson  Boiler  agreed. 

"How  could  you  leave  our  home,  Pudgy- 
wudgy?"  his  darling  asked  reprovingly. 

"If  I  had  stayed  there  another  hour  without  my 
little  chicky-biddy,  I'd  have  shot  myself!"  said 
Pudgy-wudgy.  "Ask  Anthony!"  And  here  he 
looked  at  Anthony  and  demanded:  "Ain't  we 
silly?  Like  a  couple  of  kids!" 

"You  certainly  are!"  Anthony  Fry  rasped. 

"You  don't  have  to  screw  your  face  all  up  when 
you  say  it!"  Mr.  Boiler  informed  him,  disengag- 
ing himself. 

Beatrice  laughed  charmingly. 

"You'll  overlook  it,  Mr.  Fry?"  said  she. 
"We've  never  been  separated  before  in  all 
the " 

"Six  months!"  beamed  Johnson  Boiler. 

" — that  we've  been  married!"  finished  his  wife, 
squeezing  his  hand. 

Followed  a  pause.  Anthony  had  nothing  what- 
ever to  say;  after  witnessing  an  exhibition  like 


212  IN  AND  OUT 

that  he  never  had  anything  to  say  for  an  hour  or 
more  that  a  lady  could  hear.  He  stood,  a  cold, 
stately,  disgusted  figure,  surging  internally,  thank- 
ing every  star  in  the  firmament  that  he  had  never 
laid  himself  open  to  a  situation  of  that  kind — 
and  after  a  time  the  inimical  radiations  from  him 
reached  Beatrice,  for  she  laughed  uneasily. 

"May  I — may  I  fix  my  hair?"  she  asked.  "And 
then  we'll  go  home,  Pudgy?" 

"Yes,  my  love,"  purred  Johnson  Boiler. 

"Which  is  your  room,  pigeon-boy?"  his  bride 
asked. 

So  far  as  concerned  Johnson  Boiler,  Mary  had 
been  wafted  out  of  this  world;  all  aglow  with 
witless  happiness,  he  pointed  at  the  door  as  he 
said: 

"That  one,  Beetie-chicken." 

Beatrice  turned — and  ten  thousand  volts  shot 
through  Anthony  and  caused  his  hair  to  stand  on 
end.  His  laugh,  coming  simultaneously,  was  a 
loud,  weird  thing,  splitting  the  still  air. 

"Your  bedroom,  Johnson!"  he  cried.  "She 
means  your  bedroom!" 

"Well — of  course?"  Beatrice  said  wonderingly. 

"Well,  that's  down  at  the  end  of  the  corridor, 


THE  OTHER  LADY  213 

dear  madam,"  Anthony  smiled  wildly,  and  went 
so  far  as  to  stay  her  by  laying  hands  on  her  arm. 
"Right  down  there — see?  The  open  door.  That's 
Johnson's  room!" 

Beatrice,  distinctly  startled,  glanced  at  him  and 
nodded  and  left.  Anthony,  drawing  the  first  real 
breath  in  a  full  minute,  glared  at  his  friend  in 
silence;  but  the  morning's  dread  situation  had  slid 
from  Johnson  Boiler's  shoulders  as  a  drop  of 
water  from  a  duck's  back.  For  a  second  or  two 
he  had  been  slightly  jarred  at  the  magnitude  of 
the  break  he  had  made — but  that  was  all  over 
now. 

"My  mistake,  old  scout,"  he  chuckled  softly. 
"You  saved  the  day — what  are  you  glowering 
about?" 

"Clod!"  gasped  Anthony. 

"Clod  your  necktie !"  Johnson  Boiler  said  airily. 
"Well,  did  you  ever  see  the  like  of  it?  Did  you 
ever  see  anything  like  the  little  squeezicks,  An- 
thony! She's  back,  bless  her  little  heart!  She 
couldn't  stand  it." 

"Umph!"  said  his  host. 

"And  so  I'm  let  out  of  it!"  Mr.  Boiler  chuckled 
on.  "We'll  just  scoot  along  to  the  little  dove-cote, 


214  IN  AND  OUT 

old  vinegar-face,  and  see  how  she  looks  after  all 
this  time.  I  can  get  my  things  later  on.  Well — 
I'm  sorry  to  leave  you  with  the  problem  on  your 
hands,  you  know." 

"Don't  let  it  disturb  you!"  Anthony  snapped. 

"But  at  that,  you  know,  fate's  doing  the  kind, 
just  thing  by  snatching  me  out,"  Mr.  Boiler  con- 
cluded earnestly  and  virtuously.  "It  wasn't  my 
muddle  in  the  first  place,  and  somehow  I  feel  that 
you  haven't  acted  just  on  the  level  with  me  about 
any  of  it." 

Anthony's  mouth  opened  to  protest.  Yet  he 
did  not  protest.  Instead,  he  jumped,  just  as  one 
jumps  at  the  unexpected  explosion  of  a  fire-cracker 
— for  down  the  corridor  a  scream,  shrill  and 
sharp,  echoed  suddenly. 

And  after  the  scream  came  a  long,  choking  gasp, 
so  that  even  Wilkins  appeared  in  the  doorway 
and  Johnson  Boiler  darted  forward  to  learn  what 
had  overtaken  his  only  darling.  He  was  spared 
the  trouble  of  going  down  the  corridor,  how- 
ever. Even  as  he  darted  forward,  Beatrice  had 
rejoined  them;  and  having  looked  at  her  just  once 
Johnson  Boiler  stood  in  his  tracks,  rooted  to  the 
floor! 


THE  OTHER  LADY  215 

Because  Beatrice,  the  lovely,  the  loving,  Bea- 
trice of  the  melting  eyes  and  the  high  color,  had 
left  them.  The  lady  in  the  doorway  was  white 
as  the  driven  snow  and  breathing  in  a  queer, 
strangling  way;  and  whatever  her  eyes  may  have 
expressed,  melting  love  for  Johnson  Boiler  was 
not  included. 

For  this  unpleasant  condition  the  hat  in  her 
hand  seemed  largely  responsible.  It  was  a  pretty 
little  hat,  expensively  simple,  but  it  was  the  hat  of 
a  lady ! 

And,  looking  from  it  to  Johnson  Boiler,  Bea- 
trice finally  managed: 

"This— this!    This  hat  1" 

Johnson  Boiler  moved  not  even  a  muscle. 

"Who  is  the  woman?"  Beatrice  cried  vibrantly. 
'Who  is  she?" 

And  still  neither  Anthony  nor  Johnson  Boiler 
seemed  able  to  canter  up  to  the  situation  and  carry 
it  off  with  a  blithe  laugh.  Anthony  was  making 
queer  mouths;  Johnson  Boiler  was  doing  nothing 
whatever,  even  now;  and  when  three  seconds  had 
passed  Beatrice  whirled  abruptly  on  the  only  other 
possible  source  of  information  present,  which  hap- 
pened to  be  Wilkins. 


216  IN  AND  OUT 

"You  were  here!"  she  said  swiftly.  "You  an- 
swer me:  who  was  the  woman?" 

"The — the  woman,  ma'am!"  Wilkins  repeated. 

Beatrice  came  nearer  and  looked  up  at  him, 
and  there  was  that  in  her  eyes  which  sent  Wilkins 
back  a  full  pace. 

"You — you  creature!"  Beatrice  said.  "What 
woman  was  in  this  apartment  last  night?" 

Now,  as  it  chanced,  Wilkins  was  far  more  in- 
telligent than  he  looked.  Give  him  the  mere  hint 
to  a  situation  and  he  could  lumber  through  some- 
how. Only  a  little  while  ago,  when  Hobart 
Hitchin  came  upon  them,  he  had  caught  the  key 
to  this  affair — so  he  smiled  quite  confidently  and 
bowed. 

"There  was  no  woman  here  last  night,  ma'am," 
said  Wilkins,  "only  Mrs.  Boiler,  the  wife  of  that 
gentleman  there!" 


CHAPTER  XII 
THE  CRASH 

NOW  it  was  the  turn  of  Beatrice  to  become 
rigid. 

She  did  not  even  wink,  those  first  few 
seconds.  She  looked  straight  at  Wilkins,  search- 
ing his  soul;  and  Wilkins,  pleasantly  conscious  of 
having  done  the  right  thing  well,  preserved  his 
quiet,  respectful  smile  and  wondered  just  which 
lady  this  newest  might  be. 

He  was  telling  the  truth.  He  was  telling  the 
horrible,  the  incredible  truth — and  although  those 
eyes  of  Mrs.  Boiler's  might  have  suggested  that 
she  was  capable  of  passionate  murder  if  goaded 
far  enough,  they  belied  her  actions  just  now.  One 
slim,  white  hand  went  to  her  throat  for  a  moment, 
as  if  to  ease  her  breathing,  but  when  she  spoke 
her  tone  was  very  low,  very  quiet  indeed: 

"Mrs.  Boiler  was  here?" 

"Yes,  madam!"  Wilkins  responded  in  round 
tones. 

217 


218  IN  AND  OUT 

"All  last  night?" 

"Er — yes,  madam.     She " 

Johnson  Boiler  returned  to  life !  Johnson  Boi- 
ler, with  a  thick,  senseless  shout,  bounded  forward 
and  landed  directly  between  Wilkins  and  his  be- 
loved as  he  snarled: 

"Say,  you — you  lying  dog!     You " 

"Let  him  alone!"  his  wife  said  quickly.  "Per- 
mit him  to  tell  me  the  truth!" 

"He's  not  telling  you  the  truth!"  cried  Johnson 
Boiler.  "He's  lying!  He— why,  Wilkins,  I'll 
smash  your  face  into  so  many  nasty  little  pieces 
that " 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir!"  Wilkins  said  hastily. 
"The — the  lady  was  here " 

"There  was  no  lady  here !"  Mr.  Boiler  shouted. 

Wilkins  put  up  his  hands. 

"Well,  the  lady  that  was  eating  breakfast,  sir, 
after  a  manner  of  speaking,"  he  stammered. 
"Her  that  was  introduced  as  Mrs.  Boiler,  which 
caused  me  to  take  it,  sir,  that  she " 

"Say!  I  said  there  was  no  lady  here  and  there 
was  no  lady  here!  Get  that,  you  putty-faced 
idiot!"  Johnson  Boiler  cried  frantically,  for  he 
was  beyond  reason.  "What  do  you  mean  by  stand- 


THE  CRASH  219 

ing  there  and  lying  and  babbling  about  some 
woman " 

Again  Wilkins's  intelligence  manifested  itself. 
To  be  a  perfect  servant,  one's  teeth  must  remain 
in  place  and  one's  face  must  be  free  from  bruises. 
Wilkins,  after  a  brief,  intent  look  at  Johnson 
Boiler's  fists,  turned  and  fled! 

"So  this,"  said  Mrs.  Johnson  Boiler  with  deadly 
calm,  "is  what  happens  when  you  think  I've  gone 
awayl" 

Her  husband  turned  upon  her  and  threw  out 
his  hands. 

"Beatrice  1"  he  cried.     "I  swear  to  you " 

"Don't  touch  me,  you  filthy  creature!"  said  his 
Beatrice.  "I — I  couldn't  have  thought  it.  You 
seemed  different  from  other  men!" 

"This  woman "  Johnson  Boiler  floundered, 

and  then  caught  Anthony's  cold  eye.  It  was  an 
amused  eye,  too,  and  the  sneer  was  in  it;  and 
Johnson  Boiler  pointed  at  its  owner  suddenly  and 
said:  "If — if  there  was  a  woman  here,  blame 
him!" 

Beatrice  Boiler  looked  Anthony  Fry  up  and 
down,  and  her  lips  curled. 

"I  do — a  little  1"  she  said  bitterly.    "I've  never 


220  IN  AND  OUT 

cared  very  much  for  you,  Mr.  Fry,  but — oh,  why 
did  you  do  that?  You  know  as  well  as  I  know 
that  Johnson  isn't  that — that  sort  of  a  man!  If 
he  wanted  to  come  here  and  stay  with  you,  couldn't 
you  have  been,  just  for  once — decent?'' 

"Madam!"  thundered  Anthony  Fry,  when 
breath  came  to  him. 

There  was  no  music  in  Beatrice's  laugh;  an 
ungreased  saw  goes  through  hardwood  more 
sweetly. 

"Spare  yourself  the  effort  of  that  righteous 
rage,"  she  said.  "I  know  your  saintly  type  of 
man  so  well,  and  I've  begged  Johnson  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  you." 

"And  I  give  you  my  word "  Johnson  Boiler 

began. 

"That  he  brought  the  woman  here?"  his  wife 
asked. 

"Yes!" 

"And  you  remained!"  finished  Johnson  Boiler's 
better  half.  "Where  is  she?" 

"She  isn't  here  now!"  came  almost  automatic- 
ally from  Anthony. 

Once  more  Beatrice  laughed. 

"Isn't  she,   though?"   said   she.     "That   sort 


THE  CRASH  2211 

doesn't  leave  a  twenty-dollar  hat  behind,  Mr.  Fry 
— nor  a  bag  worth  perhaps  five  times  as  much. 
She  had  moved  in  quite  cozily,  hadn't  she?  If 
I  hadn't  appeared,  her  trunk  would  have  been 
along  —  or  perhaps  it  is  here  now?  If  I 

hadn't "  Mrs.  Boiler  continued,  and  her  voice 

broke  as  the  unearthly  calm  splintered  and  de- 
parted. 

"Where  is  she?"  And,  her  whole  mien  altering 
in  an  instant,  Mrs.  Boiler's  hands  clenched 
tightly  and  her  face  flamed  with  outraged  fury. 
'Where  is  she?" 

Johnson  Boiler  looked  around  wildly  and  help- 
lessly. 

"I  tell  you,  she  isn't  here!"  he  began.  "You 
see " 

"And  I  tell  you  that  that's  a  lie!"  said  his  wife. 
"I'll  find  her,  and  when  I  do  find  her,  Johnson 
Boiler,  some  one  will  pay  on  the  spot  for  the  home 
I've  lost!  Do  you  hear?  I'll  suffer — suffer  for 
it,  perhaps!  But  she'll  pay!" 

The  Spanish  grandmother  had  risen  in  Beatrice 
and  declared  herself !  Cold-blooded  assassination 
shook  the  air  of  Anthony's  apartment.  His  head 
spun;  he  wondered  hysterically  if  there  would  be 


222  IN  AND  OUT 

much  screaming  before  it  was  all  over — if  the 
police  and  the  Lasande  employees  would  break  in 
before  the  ghastly  finish  of  the  affair.  There 
would  be  just  one  finish,  and  it  was  written  in  those 
flaming  eyes,  written  more  clearly  than  any 
print  I 

And  afterward?  Well,  there  would  be  no  after- 
ward for  Anthony.  He  understood  that  perfectly, 
yet  he  was  too  numb  to  grieve  just  now.  Fifteen 
minutes  after  the  worst  had  happened,  the  La- 
sande would  present  him  with  a  check  covering 
the  balance  of  his  lease  and  would  request  him  to 
go:  such  was  the  procedure  here  and  it  had  proved 
court-proof.  Although  he  could  afford  to  laugh 
at  them.  He  had  merely  to  sit  down  and  wait 
until  the  news  had  traveled  a  bit;  Mary's  father 
or  Robert  Vining  would  attend  to  the  rest — and 
there  would  be  the  end  of  Anthony  Fry's  stately, 
contented  existence. 

Beatrice  was  gone! 

Flaming  eyes,  heaving  bosom,  pathetic  little  ha£ 
— all  had  vanished  together,  but  they  had  van- 
ished down  the  corridor,  and  life  leaped  suddenly 
through  Anthony's  veins.  Even  now  there  was 
a  chance — faint  and  forlorn,  but  still  a  chance  to 


THE  CRASH  223 

save  Mary's  life  at  least!  He  turned,  did  An- 
thony Fry,  just  as  Johnson  Boiler  flew  after  his 
demented  spouse,  and  glided  into  Johnson  Boiler's 
bedroom. 

Mary,  very  white  indeed,  was  waiting  fon  him. 

"Where  is  she  now?"  she  panted. 

"You  heard?" 

"Of  course  I  heard!" 

"Miss  Mary,"  said  Anthony,  "I'm  afraid  that 
the  time  has  come  when  we'll  have  to  stop  plan- 
ning and  act.  The  lady  is — er — essentially  crazy 
just  now.  It  is  painful  enough,  but  you'll  have 
to  leave  as  you  are.  Yes,  even  without  a  hat,  for 
she  has  that.  Simply  leave!" 

"And  if  I'm  recognized? 

"It  is  unavoidable." 

Mary  stamped  her  foot. 

"Well,  it  isn't,  and  I  think  you're  the  stupidest 
old  man  I  ever  knew!"  she  said  flatteringly,  as 
she  sped  to  the  closet.  "Here !  Give  me  a  hand 
with  it!" 

"With  what?" 

"The  wardrobe  trunk,  of  course.  I've  been 
looking  at  it  and  trying  to  get  it  open,  but  I  cannot 
do  it  in  there.  I'm  going  out  in  that  trunk!" 


224  IN  AND  OUT 

"Eh  ?"  said  Anthony,  tugging  at  it  quite  stupidly. 

"Open  it!"  Mary  commanded. 

Anthony  opened  it. 

"Yes,  there's  room  and  to  spare,  if  you'll  take 
out  those  drawers  and  things!"  the  girl  said 
quickly.  "No!  Pile  them  in  the  closet  neatly; 
she'll  look  in  there!  Now,  about  your  man:  is 
he  strong?" 

"Very,  I  believe." 

"Get  him  here,  quick!"  said  Mary. 

She  seemed  to  have  taken  matters  into  her  own 
hand;  more,  she  seemed  to  know  what  she  was 
about.  Anthony,  after  an  instant  of  blank  staring, 
pushed  four  times  on  the  button  of  Johnson  Boi- 
ler's room,  which  signal  indicated  that  Wilkins 
was  needed  in  a  hurry. 

Some  four  or  five  seconds  they  stood,  breath- 
ing hard,  both  of  them,  and  listening  for  the 
sounds  of  disaster  which  might  echo  any  minute 
from  the  corridor.  They  had  not  echoed  when 
Wilkins  appeared. 

"You!  Wilkins  is  your  name?"  Mary  said. 
"Wilkins,  I'm  going  to  get  into  the  trunk!  Have 
you  grasped  that?" 

"Why— yes,  Miss!" 


THE  CRASH  225 

"And  you,  instantly,  are  going  to  take  the  trunk, 
with  me  in  it,  to  my  home — you  know  where  that 
is?  You  don't,  of  course.  Well,  load  the  trunk 
into  a  taxi  and  tell  the  man  to  go  across  to  West 
End  Ave!" 

"And  the  corner  of  Eighty — th  Street!"  An- 
thony supplied. 

"Exactly!"  said  the  girl.  "Go  to  the  side  door 
and  take  in  the  trunk,  through  the  yard,  of  course, 
and  say  it  is  for  Felice — Felice  Moreau,  my  maid? 
Have  you  the  name,  Wilkins?" 

"Felice  Moreau,  miss.  Yes,  miss,"  said  the 
blunderer. 

"And  then  take  it  to  her  room  and  get  out!" 
Mary  concluded.  "Don't  lock  the  thing.  Load 
it  into  the  back  of  the  cab  with  yourself  and  try 
to  get  it  open  a  little  so  that  I'll  have  air,  when 
we've  started!" 

Saying  which,  Mary  Dalton,  who  knew  a  really 
desperate  situation  when  she  saw  one,  and  who 
also  inherited  much  of  her  father's  superb  execu- 
tive ability  in  a  genuine  emergency — Mary  gath- 
ered her  skirts  and  stepped  into  the  trunk,  huddling 
down  as  prettily  and  gracefully  as  if  it  had  been 
rehearsed  for  weeks! 


226  IN  AND  OUT 

She  looked  at  Wilkins,  and  Wilkins,  with  a 
sweep,  had  closed  the  lid;  and  with  a  great  emo- 
tional gulp  Wilkins  looked  at  his  master  and  said : 

"My  eye,  sir!  A  bit  of  all  right,  that,  Mr. 
Fry!" 

Anthony  Fry  nodded  quickly  and  thrust  several 
bills  into  his  hand. 

"Don't  stand  there  talking  about  it!"  he  said. 
"Get  your  hat  and  hustle,  Wilkins!  Take  the 
first  taxi  you  see  and — and  handle  her  gently! 
Felice  Moreau,  Wilkins — remember  that." 

"I  shall,  indeed,  sir!"  said  the  faithful  one; 
and,  delicate  consideration  in  every  finger,  he  lifted 
the  trunk  and  walked  into  the  living-room,  while 
Anthony  Fry  held  his  breath  and  followed  every 
move  with  fascinated  eyes. 

Through  the  room,  then,  went  Wilkins  and 
trunk  together  and  to  the  door.  The  sober  black 
felt  affair  he  had  used  these  three  years  was  on 
Wilkins's  head  now,  and  he  lugged  the  trunk  on- 
ward— turned  in  the  outer  hall  and  lugged  it  to 
the  freight  elevator — and  now,  as  Anthony 
watched  from  the  doorway  of  his  lately  peaceful 
home,  onto  the  freight  elevator. 

The  door  closed  on  the  little  car.    The  door 


THE  CRASH  227 

closed  on  Anthony's  apartment,  with  Anthony  in- 
side— and  again  he  was  that  stately,  dignified, 
reticent  and  austere  being;  the  Anthony  Fry  of 
yesterday! 

A  trifle  stiffly,  perhaps,  he  moved  to  his  pet 
armchair,  and  into  it  he  sank  with  an  undeniable 
thud,  grasping  the  arms  fondly  as  one  might  grasp 
a  friend  returned  from  a  long  and  perilous  jour- 
ney, and  staring  straight  ahead. 

Amazing!  More  than  that,  dumfounding! 
Five  minutes  back  he  had  been  seriously  resigned 
to  ruin  and  death.  Now  he  was  quite  utterly  all 
right  once  more ! 

Anthony  looked  about  at  all  the  familiar  things; 
it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  not  seen  them  for 
a  long,  long  time,  and  that  they  stretched  out  wel- 
coming hands  to  him.  Weakly,  he  smiled  and 
rested  his  head  in  the  well-worn  spot  on  the  back. 

What  a  wonderfully  capable  little  person  she 
was !  Why  had  none  of  them  thought  of  a  trunk 
before?  Or — what  mattter  if  none  of  them  had, 
so  that  Mary  had  gained  the  inspiration?  She 
had  saved  herself  and  she  had  saved  Anthony — 
bless  her  little  heart!  She  had  saved  everything, 
because  she  was  gone! 


228  IN  AND  OUT 

And  she  was  perfectly  safe  in  Wilkins's  hands. 
Wilkins,  faithful,  powerful  soul,  would  carry  her 
tidily  into  the  room  of  the  maid  Felice,  wherever 
that  might  lie  in  Dalton's  absurdly  ornate  pile, 
and  between  Felice  and  Mary  a  story  would  be 
arranged  to  cover  everything.  Momentarily, 
Anthony  frowned,  for  he  disapproved  of  men- 
dacity in  any  form — but  there  are  some  lies  so 
much  better  than  the  truth  that  shortly  he  smiled 
again  and  hoped  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart 
that  Mary's  lie  would  be  a  winner. 

And  now  that  all  was  well — Anthony  sat  up- 
right quite  abruptly.  All  was  not  exactly  well  as 
yet;  Johnson  Boiler  and  his  wife  were  coming 
down  the  corridor  and,  almost  as  he  heard  them, 
the  lady  passed  him. 

She  said  nothing.  Beatrice  had  passed  the  talk- 
ing stage.  Cheeks  white  again  and  eyes  blazing, 
she  threw  open  the  door  of  Anthony's  chamber 
and  shot  inward!  One  felt  the  pause  as  she 
looked  around;  one  heard  the  door  of  the  closet 
open — and  then  the  door  of  the  other  closet.  Then 
one  saw  the  pleasing  Beatrice  again  as  she  shot 
out,  hat  still  in  hand. 

One  lightning,  searing  glance  whizzed  over  the 


THE  CRASH  229 

calm  Anthony  and  the  purple,  perspiring  Johnson 
Boiler.  Then  Beatrice  had  turned  and  hurtled 
into  Johnson  Boiler's  room  itself,  and  Johnson 
Boiler  dropped  into  the  chair  beside  Anthony  and 
whined. 

"It's  over!"  said  he.     "It's  overl" 

"Oh,  no,"  Anthony  said. 

"And  you  listen  to  this!"  Johnson  Boiler  thun- 
dered suddenly,  sitting  up  and  pointing  one 
pudgy  finger  at  his  friend.  "The  poor  kid's 
crazy!  I  can't  stop  her!  She'll  kill  the  little 
skirt  as  sure  as  there's  a  sky  overhead,  and 
she'll  go  to  the  chair  for  it,  laughing!  And 
when  she  has  gone,  Fry,  when  it's  all  over,  I'm 
going  to  shoot  you  full  of  holes  and  then  kill 
myself!  Get  me?  This  world  isn't  big  enough 
for  you  to  get  away  from  me,  now!  I  swear  to 
you " 

"You  might  better  dry  up,"  said  Anthony  with 
his  incomprehensible  calm. 

Boiler  turned  dully.  Beatrice  was  with  them 
again,  and  yet  there  had  been  no  scream,  no  crash. 
There  was  about  Beatrice  nothing  at  all  to  suggest 
a  woman  who  has  tasted  the  sweet  of  revenge. 
White  lips  shut,  she  sailed  past  them,  on  her  way 


230  IN  AND  OUT 

to  Wilkins's  pantry  and  his  humble  bedroom  be- 
yond. 

"Didn't  she  find  her?"  choked  Boiler. 

"She  didn't!" 

"Why  not?" 

"She  isn't  there." 

"Where'd  she  go?" 

Anthony  smiled  cynical  condescension. 

"Once  in  a  while  I'm  able  to  manage  these 
things  if  I'm  left  alone,"  he  said,  assuming  much 
credit  to  which  he  had  no  title. 

"Well,  is  she  out  of  this  flat?"  Johnson  Boiler 
asked  hopefully. 

"She  certainly  is,  you  poor  fool,"  said  his  host. 

Beatrice  had  finished  her  unlovely  hunt.  Even 
again,  she  was  with  them,  and  now  she  looked 
straight  at  Johnson  Boiler,  ignoring  the  very  ex- 
istence of  Anthony  Fry. 

"I  haven't  found  her,"  said  Beatrice.  "She's 
hidden  somewhere,  or  else  she's  with  other  friends 
in  this  wretched,  sanctimonious  hole." 

"Beatrice "  Johnson  Boiler  began,  with  a 

great,  hopeful  gasp. 

"But  I  will  find  her!"  the  lady  assured  him, 
"and  when  I  do — I'm  going  now." 


THE  CRASH  231 

"Home?" 

Momentarily,  Beatrice's  eyes  swam.  It  seemed 
a  good  sign,  and  Johnson  Boiler  rose  hur- 
riedly. The  eyes  ceased  swimming  and  blazed  at 
him! 

"I  am  never  going  there  again,"  Beatrice  in- 
formed him,  with  the  old,  chilling  calm.  "I  shall 
go  to  a  hotel,  and  later,  I  hope,  back  to  father  and 
mother.  You  will  hear  from  my  lawyers,  Johnson, 
within  a  day  or  two." 

"But,  Beatrice "  Johnson  Boiler  protested. 

"That  doesn't  mean  that  you're  crazy  enough  to — 
to  try  divorcing  me?" 

"I  am  not  crazy,  and  there  will  be  very  little 
trouble  about  it,  Johnson,"  the  lady  said  gravely. 
"That  is  what  it  means.  Good-by." 

A  moment  she  paused  before  Johnson  Boiler, 
looking  him  up  and  down  with  a  scorn  so  terrible 
that,  innocent  or  otherwise,  he  cringed  visibly. 
Another  moment  her  eyes  seemed  to  soften  a  little, 
for  they  were  deep  and  wonderful,  maddeningly 
beautiful,  but  millions  of  miles  from  the  unworthy 
creature  who  had  once  called  them  his  own.  This, 
apparently,  was  Beatrice's  fashion  of  saying  an 
eternal  good-by  to  one  she  had  once  loved — for 


23 2  IN  AND  OUT 

having  looked  and  thrilled  him,  she  moved  on, 
and  the  door  closed  behind  her. 

"She  means  it !"  croaked  Johnson  Boiler. 

"She'll  cool  down,"  said  Anthony. 

"She  will  not,  and — she  means  it!"  cried  his 
friend,  wrath  rising  my  great  leaps.  "She's  going 
to  sue  me  for  divorce — me,  that  never  even  looked 
a  chicken  in  the  eye  on  the  street.  She's  going 
to  bust  up  our  happy  little  home,  Anthony,  and 
it's  your  fault !" 

"Poppycock!"  said  his  host. 

"That  be  damned !"  stated  Johnson  Boiler,  and 
this  time  he  actually  howled  the  foul  words. 
"That's  what  she  wants  to  do,  and  I  don't  blame 
her!  But  she'll  never  do  it,  Anthony!  Your 
reputation's  all  right — it's  unfortunate  for  the  girl, 
of  course,  but  I'm  going  to  stop  her!" 

"How?" 

"I'm  going  to  tell  the  cold  truth  and  make  the 
girl  back  it  up!" 

"Hey?" 

"I  owe  something  to  myself  and  to  Beatrice, 
and  I  don't  owe  anything  to  you  or  the  Dalton 
girl!  Where's  my  hat?" 

Anthony  gripped  him  suddenly. 


THE  CRASH  233 

"Are  you  cur  enough,"  said  he,  angrily,  "to 
sacrifice  Miss  Dalton  simply  to " 

"You  bet  I  am!"  said  Johnson  Boiler.  "If  it 
comes  down  to  that,  the  truth  can't  hurt  her,  and 
any  little  odds  and  ends  of  things  that  happen 
before  all  hands  understand  the  truth  will  happen 
to  you — not  me!" 

Anthony  smiled  wickedly. 

"Just  listen  to  me  a  moment  before  you  start  1" 
he  said  curtly. 

"Listen  to  what?" 

"Something  I  have  to  say  which  will  interest 
you  very  much!  This  trifling  family  affair  of 
yours  isn't  nearly  so  serious  as  you  fancy.  In  a 
day  or  two  or  a  week  or  two  it  will  all  blow  over — 
and  if  it  doesn't  you  may  thank  your  lucky  stars 
to  be  rid  of  a  woman  so  infernally  unreasonable," 
said  Anthony.  "But  I'm  hanged  if  I'll  permit 
you  to  sacrifice  that  girl!" 

"Ho!"  said  Johnson  Boiler  derisively.  "How 
are  you  going  to  stop  it?" 

"In  just  this  way!"  Anthony  continued  suavely. 
"You  breathe  just  one  word  of  the  truth,  Johnson, 
and  /  will  tell  a  story  which  involves  you  and,  while 
there  will  not  be  a  word  of  truth  in  it,  it  will  get 


234  IN  AND  OUT 

over  in  great  shape,  because  everybody  knows  that 
I'm  a  man  whose  word  Is  as  good  as  his  bond. 
I'll  tell  such  a  story  about  you  as  will  raise  the 
very  hair  on  your  head  and  have  an  infuriated 
mob  after  you  before  the  papers  have  been  on 
the  street  for  twenty  minutes!  Do  you  under- 
stand? 

"The  mysterious  woman  will  be  an  innocent 
country  girl,  I  think,  who  came  here  to  make  a 
living  and  lift  the  mortgage  on  the  old  farm,  ami 
whom  you  approached  on  the  street  and  finally 
dazzled  with  a  few  lobster  palaces.  She'll  be 
beautiful  and  virtuous,  Johnson,  and  I  think  she'll 
tell  me,  in  tears,  how  you  fed  her  the  first  cocktail 
she  ever  tasted!  She'll " 

"Wait!"  Johnson  Boiler  said  hoarsely. 

"That  is  the  merest  outline  of  the  story  I  shall 
tell,  and  when  I've  had  time  to  work  out  the  de- 
tails, I'll  guarantee  that  Beatrice  will  never  even 
consent  to  live  in  the  same  city  with  you — even  if 
you  bring  sworn  proofs  of  the  story's  falsity!  I'll 
represent  you  to  be  a  thing  abhorred  by  all  half-way 
decent  men  and  even  shunned  by  self-respecting 
dogs!  Don't  think  I'm  bluffing  about  it,  either, 
Johnson!  I  mean  to  protect  Mary  Daltonl" 


THE  CRASH  235 

There  is  a  vast  difference  between  the  coarse, 
rough  character,  however  blusteringly  impressive 
he  may  be,  and  the  truly  strong  one.  Frequently, 
the  one  is  mistaken  for  the  other,  but  under  the 
first  real  stress  the  truth  comes  out. 

Johnson  Boiler  for  example,  looking  into  his 
friend's  coldly  shining  eye,  did  not  draw  himself 
up  and  freeze  Anthony  with  his  conscious  virtue. 
He  did  puff  out  his  cheeks  defiantly,  to  be  sure, 
and  mutter  incoherently,  but  that  lasted  for  only 
a  few  seconds. 

Then  the  eye  won  and  Johnson  Boiler,  dropping 
into  his  chair  again,  likewise  dropped  his  head  into 
his  hands  and  groaned  queerly. 

Anthony,  looking  contempt  at  him,  fancied  that 
he  wept. 

Anthony  sneered  and  smiled. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
IN  THE  Box 

NOW,  for  a  little,  let  us  watch  the  move- 
ments of  the  intelligent  servant,  Wilkins. 
Getting  the  trunk  to  the  street  was  no 
trouble  at  all.     The  girl  weighed,  perhaps,  one 
hundred  and  twenty  pounds,  and  the  trunk  itself 
another   fifteen    or    twenty,    and    handling    that 
amount  of  weight  was  a  mere  joke  to  Wilkins. 
Therefore,  he  stood  in  the  side  street  beside  the 
Lasande,  having  carefully  deposited  his  burden, 
and  looked  about  for  a  taxi — and  presently  one 
of  these  bandit  vehicles  rolled  up  to  the  curb  and 
the  hard-faced  little  man  behind  the  wheel  barked: 
"Taxicab?" 

"Yes,"  said  Wilkins.     "I  wish " 

"Stick  the  box  up  front!"  snapped  the  driver. 
"I  kin  give  you  a  hand." 

"I'm  taking  the  box  in  back  with  me,"   said 
Wilkins. 

236 


IN  THE  BOX  237 

"Nothing  doing!"  said  the  driver.  "What  d'ye 
think  that  paint's  made  of — steel  ?" 

It  was  entirely  possible  that  Mary  was  stifling 
by  this  time.  Wilkins  used  his  wits  as  he  fumbled 
in  his  pockets  and  asked: 

"Your  cab,  old  chap?" 

"Company's!" 

"Put  this  five-dollar  bill  into  your  pocket  and 
give  me  a  hand  setting  the  box  in  the  back,"  said 
Wilkins.  "It's  packed  with  delicate  stuff,  and  the 
master  instructed  me  particular  to  keep  a  hand 
on  it." 

So,  while  the  hard-faced  one  smiled  brightly 
and,  the  bill  in  his  pocket,  reflected  that  a  murder 
must  have  been  committed  but  that  it  was  none 
of  his  business  in  any  case,  Anthony's  wardrobe 
trunk  was  stood  erect  and  the  taxicab  rolled  off 
swiftly,  headed  for  the  palatial  home  of  Theodore 
Dalton. 

A  block  or  two  and,  in  the  most  uninterested 
way,  Wilkins  managed  to  open  the  lid  for  an  inch 
or  more,  and  in  the  space  appeared  a  little  pink 
nose  and,  presently,  as  the  nose  withdrew,  a  bril- 
liant blue  eye. 

"Can  you  open  it  a  little  more?"  asked  Mary. 


238  IN  AND  OUT 

Wilkins  opened  it  a  little  more. 

"I  trust  you're  quite  comfortable,  miss?"  he 
asked  politely. 

"Lovely!"  said  Mary.  "Did  any  one — seem 
to  notice  when  we  left?" 

"Not  a  soul,  miss." 

Mary,  cramped  though  she  might  be,  sighed 
vast  relief. 

"Tell  Mr.  Fry,  when  you  get  back,  that  I'll  send 
for  the  things  I  left  behind,"  she  said  softly. 

"Yes,  miss." 

"And  Wilkins,  when  you  get  to  the  house," 
said  Mary,  "be  absolutely  sure  that  you  take  me 
to  Felice's  room!" 

"I  understand,"  purred  Wilkins,  just  above  the 
rumble  of  traffic. 

Here  Mary's  whole  face  almost  appeared. 

"I  want  you  to  be  very  sure  about  that  indeed!" 
she  urged.  "Never  mind  what  the  other  servants 
say  or  where  they  want  you  to  leave  the  trunk. 
You  insist  that  it  is  for  Felice,  and  has  to  be 
delivered  to  her  personally;  and  if  you  have  a 
chance  to  give  her  some  sort  of  sign  to  accom- 
pany you  to  the  room,  do  it  I  think  she'll  under- 
stand," 


IN  THE  BOX  239 

"Yes,  miss,"  Wilkins  agreed. 

"And  above  and  beyond  all  things,  keep  your 
face  perfectly  expressionless  when  you  meet  Bates, 
Wilkins.  Bates  is  our  butler,  you  know,  and  he's 
the  most  inquisitive  creature  in  the  world.  Is  this 
trunk  marked?" 

"Only  with  Mr.  Fry's  initials,  miss— 'A.  F.'  " 

Mary  frowned  up  at  him  through  the  crack. 

"That'll  have  to  be  explained  too,"  she  sighed. 
"Well — let's  see.  Do  you  think  of  anything 
plausible,  Wilkins?" 

The  perfect  treasure  glanced  at  the  driver,  who 
was  quite  intent  on  his  own  affairs  and  apparently 
not  listening — and  Wilkins  smiled  quite  com- 
placently. 

"If  I  might  make  so  bold  as  to  suggest  it,  miss," 
he  said,  "why  not  say  that  the  trunk  comes  from 
— well,  the  cousin  of  this  Felice,  perhaps?  Has 
she  a  female  cousin?" 

"Nobody  knows  it  if  she  hasn't." 

"Then  it  might  be  said  that  this  comes  from  her 
cousin — er — Aimee  Fourier.  That  sounds  rather 
well  for  a  name?" 

"Great,  Wilkins!"  said  Mary. 

"And  it  might  further  be  said  that  this  cousin, 


240  IN  AND  OUT 

a  person  perhaps  in  the  trade  of  making  gowns 
and  the  like,  since  I  believe  that  such  use  these 
trunks  quite  a  bit — it  might  be  said  that  the  cousin, 
having  no  further  use  for  this  trunk,  is  sending 
it  to  your  maid,  miss." 

Sheer  admiration  shone  in  Mary's  visible  eye. 

"Wilkins,  you're  a  jewel!"  said  its  owner. 
"Where  are  we  now?" 

"On  West  End  Avenue,  miss,  within  a  block  or 
two  of  your  home." 

Mary  disappeared. 

"Shut  the  trunk,  Wilkins,"  her  voice  said  softly, 
"We're  safe!" 

She,  who  had  suffered  so  many  shocks  since  last 
night,  seemed  assured  that  at  last  all  was  well; 
and  as  a  matter  of  fact  Wilkins  felt  much  the 
same  about  the  whole  affair.  He  gazed  placidly 
at  the  sign  on  the  corner  and,  closing  the  trunk, 
leaned  forward  to  the  driver. 

"The  big  limestone  place  over  there,  I  think  it 
is,"  said  he.  "Go  to  the  side  gate,  old  chap." 

Seconds  only,  and  they  rolled  to  a  standstill  at 
the  curb.  Anthony's  priceless  personal  servant 
lifted  out  his  burden  and  set  it  on  the  sidewalk  with 
no  effort  at  all. 


IN  THE  BOX  241 

"Wait  a  bit  and  take  me  back,"  he  smiled  at 
the  driver,  as  he  started  for  the  handsome  black 
iron  gate  in  the  cream-colored  brick  wall  that  shut 
the  Dalton  back  yard  from  the  passing  throng. 
There  was  a  little  electric  push  beside  it,  and 
Wilkins,  having  laid  a  finger  on  it,  waited  serenely. 

Offhand,  it  seemed  to  him,  he  had  saved  the 
day  for  Anthony  Fry.  A  smaller,  weaker  man 
must  have  passed  up  the  job  of  carrying  out  the 
trunk  single-handed.  Yes,  he  had  saved  the  day 
and,  also  offhand,  the  saving  should  be  worth 
about  twenty  dollars  when  he  returned  to  An- 
thony and  reported.  Or  possibly,  considering  the 
really  horrible  features  of  the  case  as  Wilkins 
understood  them,  even  fifty  dollars. 

That  was  not  too  much.  In  fact,  the  more  he 
thought  of  it,  the  more  Wilkins  felt  that  his  re- 
turn would  be  marked  by  the  sight  of  a  crisp  yel- 
low note  from  Anthony's  prim,  well-stocked  wallet. 
Thirty-two  of  this  should  go  into  the  black-and- 
white  pin-checked  suit  he  had  been  considering 
enviously  in  a  Broadway  window  for  nearly  a 
month;  ten  more  should  go  into  Wilkins's  savings- 
bank  account,  which  was  quite  a  tidy  affair;  and 
he  thought  that  the  other  eight  might  as  well  be 


242  IN  AND  OUT 

sent  to  his  nephew,  who  was  working  his  way 
through  a  veterinary  college  in  Indiana. 

And  here  the  houseman  opened  the  door  and 
looked  at  Wilkins;  and  Wilkins  picking  up  his 
trunk,  stepped  through  and  into  the  back  yard, 
and  then,  the  door  of  the  basement  laundry  being 
open,  into  the  laundry  itself. 

Only  the  under-laundress  was  present,  which 
caused  him  to  stiffen  as  he  said  coldly: 

"For  Felice!" 

"The — the  poor  young  lady's  maid!"  said  the 
laundress,  with  a  sudden  snivel. 

"I'll  take  it  to  her  room,"  Wilkins  said. 
"Where  will  that  be,  and  where  will  I  find  the 
young  woman  herself?" 

The  under-laundress  dried  her  eyes  on  one  cor- 
ner of  her  apron. 

"I  dunno  about  Felice,"  she  said  uncertainly. 
"Mebbe  Mr.  Bates — oh,  here  comes  Mr.  Bates 
now." 

Round,  red,  highly  perturbed,  the  Dalton  butler 
bustled  into  the  laundry  and  looked  Wilkins  up 
and  down. 

"Trunk  for  the  master?"  he  asked  crisply. 

"For  Felice,  the  young  lady's  maid,  as  I  under- 


IN  THE  BOX  243 

stand,"  Wilkins  said  quietly.  "Where  shall  I  find 
her?  It's  for  herself." 

His  calm  and  superior  smile  warned  Bates  not 
to  question  an  affair  that  could  not  possibly  con- 
cern him — yet  the  warning  missed  Bates  some- 
how. He  looked  sharply  at  Wilkins  and  laughed. 

"You'll  not  find  her  here!"  said  he. 

"I  mean  Felice,  the  maid  of " 

"I  know  the  one  you  mean,"  Bates  said  briefly. 
"She's  not  here  and  she'll  not  be  here  again  1 
She's  been  dismissed!" 

"What?"  said  Wilkins. 

Bates  looked  him  over  sternly,  as  if  to  suggest 
that  if  he  happened  to  be  a  friend  of  Felice  he  had 
passed  beneath  contempt. 

"She's  went!"  Bates  said  sourly.  "This  here 
house  is  no  place  for  young  Frenchies  that  wanders 
the  streets  at  night,  believe  me.  She  sneaked  in — 
I  dunno  what  hour  this  early  morning,  and  she 
was  able  to  give  no  account  at  all  of  where  she'd 
been.  There  wasn't  no  further  questions  asked; 
she  went,  bag  and  baggage !" 

One  of  those  mental  clouds  which  had  been 
troubling  Anthony  since  last  night  came  now  to 
engulf  the  complacent  Wilkins.  He  looked  at 


244  IN  AND  OUT 

Bates,  as  if  refusing  to  believe  a  word  of  it.  He 
looked  at  the  trunk  and  his  expression  was  a 
study. 

"Well,  as  to  where  this  young  person  has  gone," 
Wilkins  said.  "You  see,  this  trunk  being,  as  it 
were,  her  personal  property,  I've  been  asked  to 
see  that  she  gets  it  herself  and " 

"Where  she's  gone  is  no  concern  of  ours.  We 
don't  know  and  we  don't  want  to  know!"  said 
Mr.  Bates.  "The  hussy  went  without  a  character 
and  that's  all  we  can  tell  you  about  her.  And  this 
here  house  is  too  full  of  trouble  for  me  to  be 
bothering  with  you  about  her  trunk,"  concluded 
Mr.  Bates.  "Anything  belonging  to  her  gets 
out  I" 

"Out!"  Wilkins  muttered. 

"Out!"  said  Mr.  Bates,  and  pointed  at  the  door. 

Let  us  not  forget  what  Anthony  altogether  for- 
got, to  wit:  the  sinister  warning  of  Hobart  Hitchin 
in  regard  to  shipping  boxes,  trunks  or  other  con- 
tainers that  might  well  have  held  a  dismembered 
body. 

For  one  of  Hitchin's  strange  temperament  and 
habits  of  thought,  his  own  apartment  could  not 


IN  THE  BOX  245 

have  been  situated  more  happily,  if  an  affair  of 
this  kind  were  to  involve  Anthony  Fry. 

Room  for  room,  the  home  of  the  prosperous 
crime-student  was  directly  below  that  of  Anthony; 
they  used  the  same  dumbwaiter,  and  they  were 
served  by  the  same  service  elevator,  so  that  if 
Hitchin  had  so  elected  he  could  even  have  in- 
spected the  meals  that  went  to  Anthony's  table. 
Still  more,  they  were  in  the  old  wing  of  the  La- 
sande,  where  the  rooms  are  larger,  but  where  the 
floors — laid  long  before  the  days  of  sound-proof 
concrete  filling — permit  the  unduly  inquisitive  to 
hear  much  of  what  goes  on  above  and  below. 

According  to  his  own  reasoning,  Hitchin  had 
struck  upon  the  investigation  of  his  whole  lifetime. 
Surely  as  he  wore  spectacles,  murder  had  been 
done  in  the  flat  of  the  impeccable  Anthony  Fry. 

What  the  motive  could  possibly  be,  Hobart 
Hitchin  could  only  guess,  as  he  had  already 
guessed;  but  it  was  a  fact  that  he  had  been  suspi- 
cious ever  since  Anthony's  appearance  last  night 
with  the  slim  boy  of  the  heavy  storm  coat  and  the 
down-pulled  cap.  These,  failing  to  harmonize 
with  anything  that  went  in  and  out  of  the  Lasande 
ordinarily,  had  twanged  every  responsive  string 


246  IN  AND  OUT 

in  Hitchin's  consciousness,  and  not  by  any  manner 
of  means  had  the  strings  ceased  twanging  after  his 
unusual  interview  with  Anthony. 

Hence,  having  returned  to  his  own  flat,  he 
waited  tense  and  expectant.  With  straining  ears 
he  heard  the  coming  of  Beatrice  Boiler  and  the 
subsequent  excitement,  and  to  him  her  peculiar 
cries  signified  another  friend  of  David  Prentiss's 
who  had  come  suddenly  upon  the  grisly  thing  that 
had  once  been  the  young  boy. 

And  now  those  processes  of  deductive  reasoning 
which  are  used  so  successfully  in  fiction  and  so 
infrequently  in  real  life,  informed  Hobart  Hitchin 
that  the  crime's  next  step  was  almost  at  hand. 
Accustomed  to  murder  or  otherwise,  an  intelligent 
man  like  Anthony  Fry  would  risk  no  more  of 
these  disturbances;  whatever  his  original  plans, 
he  would  seek  very  shortly  to  get  the  body  out  of 
the  Lasande — hardly  in  grips,  Hitchin  fancied, 
probably  not  in  a  packing  case,  rather  in  that  re- 
liable actor  in  so  many  sensational  murders,  a 
trunk. 

Here,  on  the  floor  above  him,  some  one  moved 
and  bumped  what  was  unquestionably  a  hollow, 
empty  trunk! 


IN  THE  BOX  247 

As  the  veteran  fireman  responds  to  the  gong, 
so  did  the  brain  of  Hobart  Hitchin  respond  to 
that  bump !  Fifteen  seconds  and  he  had  visualized 
the  whole  of  the  next  step ;  the  trunk  to  the  freight 
elevator,  thence  to  the  street,  thence  to  the  waiting 
motor  express  wagon,  thence — 

Again,  after  a  time,  came  the  bump,  indicating 
that  the  trunk  was  in  the  living-room  now — and 
then,  absolutely  true  to  the  hypothesis,  Anthony's 
door  opened  and  the  bumps  went  to  the  hall,  while 
the  freight  elevator  come  up  the  shaft! 

The  brief-case  containing  the  trousers  of  David 
Prentiss  had  not  left  Hobart  Hitchin's  cold  hand. 
It  did  not  leave  now  as,  snatching  a  hat,  he  sped 
down  the  back  stairs  of  the  Lasande — a  proceed- 
ing likely  to  save  five  seconds  at  least  when  one 
considered  the  slow  response  of  the  elevators — > 
cut  through  the  second  floor  and  came  down  to 
the  side  entrance,  just  beyond  the  office  and  the 
desk. 

There  was  a  taxicab  as  usual  at  the  curb  just 
here.  Without  leaving  the  vestibule,  Hobart 
Hitchin  signaled  it  to  wait  for  him;  and  then, 
ever  so  charily,  he  thrust  forward  his  eagle  eyes 
and  directed  their  merciless  beam  through  the  side 


248  IN  AND  OUT 

panel  of  the  glass.  Hobart  Hitchin  all  but  lost 
his  self-control  and  laughed  excitedly,  for  there, 
just  down  the  block,  Anthony's  personal  servant 
was  lugging  a  wardrobe  trunk  to  the  curb. 

Ah !  And  he  planned  to  use  the  safer  taxicab, 
apparently,  rather  than  the  truck;  and  it  seemed 
to  Hobart  Hitchin  that  the  driver  knew  his  full 
errand  and  demanded  his  share  in  advance,  be- 
cause Wilkins  handed  him  money.  After  that, 
without  effort,  because  David  Prentiss  had  been 
light  and  slender  in  life,  Wilkins  took  his  ghastly 
burden  into  the  back  of  the  cab  and  drove  away. 

But  Hobart  Hitchin,  the  relentless,  was  just 
twenty  yards  behind,  and  his  driver,  spurred  by 
a  ten-dollar  bill,  bent  forward  and  watched  every 
turn  of  the  wheels  as  he  followed.  Thus  they 
left  the  region  of  the  Lasande — and  since  we  all 
have  our  personal  dreams,  it  was  right  enough 
for  Hobart  Hitchin  to  sit  back  and  indulge  his 
own. 

As  a  millionaire  now  and  then  makes  himself 
part  and  parcel  of  the  local  fire-department,  fol- 
lowing faithfully  to  every  blaze,  answering  every 
alarm,  so  Hobart  Hitchin,  with  a  patrimony  that 
rendered  real  work  absurd,  dreamed  of  the  day 


IN  THE  BOX  249 

when  he  should  be  recognized  as  the  most  eminent 
private  expert  in  crime  these  great  United  States 
have  ever  held. 

Mistily,  he  had  been  able  time  and  time  again 
to  visualize  himself,  spectacles  and  all,  surrounded 
by  perturbed  policemen  who  had  come  to  the  end 
of  their  rope  in  crime  detection,  who  listened  re- 
spectfully while  he  expounded  the  elements  of  the 
particular  case  in  hand.  But  the  mists  were  almost 
gone  now;  this  brilliant  morning,  for  the  very 
first  time,  Hobart  Hitchin  had  picked  off  a  live 
one. 

Yes,  and  it  grew  more  and  more  live  every 
second,  for  instead  of  heading  downtown,  and 
trying — as  Hobart  Hitchin  had  fully  expected — to 
ship  the  trunk  by  express  to  some  out-of-town 
point,  Wilkins  had  made  his  way  to  West  End 
Avenue ! 

This  in  itself  was  very  curious;  it  did  not  even 
suggest  that  Wilkins  was  headed  out  of  town  with 
the  remains;  and  it  did  not  even  hint  at  the 
astounding  thing  which  followed,  several  blocks 
farther  uptown !  As  the  taxi  stopped  at  Theodore 
Dalton's  side  gate,  Hitchin  all  but  fell  from  his 
cab  as  he  craned  forward! 


250  IN  AND  OUT 

By  some  lucky  accident,  he  knew  that  house, 
and  knew,  in  a  general  way,  of  its  owner.  This 
was  the  liniment  king — and  Anthony  Fry  was  the 
owner  of  Fry's  Imperial  Liniment;  there  was  a 
link  as  of  solid  steel,  made  of  liniment  only,  yet 
utterly  unbreakable ! 

What  did  it  mean?    What  could  it  mean? 

Hitchin  leaned  Back  for  an  instant  and  closed 
his  eyes,  giving  his  mighty  brain  the  freest  rein 
of  its  existence,  urging  it  with  every  fiber  in  him 
to  hit  upon  the  correct  theory. 

And  then,  eyes  opening,  it  almost  seemed  that 
he  had  hit  upon  it !  These  two,  Dalton  and  Fry, 
were  doubtless  associated  in  business,  whatever 
the  supposed  rivalry.  Was  it  not  thinkable  that 
the  devilish  messes  of  one  or  the  other  had  ruined 
the  health  of  the  Prentiss  boy?  Was  it  not  pos- 
sible that  Anthony,  luring  him  to  his  home,  had 
been  trying  to  buy  him  off  from  a  threatened 
suit — get  a  quit-claim  or  something  of  that  kind? 
For  that  matter,  could  it  be  anything  else?  The 
boy  had  refused  and — big  business  had  wiped  out 
another  individual ! 

He  might  well  enough  be  wrong,  but  if  wrong 
he  were,  why  was  Wilkins  taking  the  trunk  straight 


IN  THE  BOX  251 

into  the  premises  of  Theodore  Dalton?  He  had 
done  that  now,  and  now  the  gate  had  closed  upon 
him,  and  Hobart  Hitchin,  suddenly  determined 
on  the  most  spectacular  act  of  his  life,  tapped  his 
driver  on  the  shoulder. 

"Go  around  to  the  front  of  this  house — yes, 
the  corner  one!"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  little 
shake  in  his  voice. 

His  path  was  clear  enough.  Anthony  Fry  would 
not  seek  to  escape  as  yet;  they  never  did  at  this 
stage  when  they  fancied  the  crime  itself  safely 
out  of  the  way.  Anthony  would  be  there  when 
wanted  —  and  single-handed,  Hobart  Hitchin 
meant  to  take  into  custody  the  two  most  sensa- 
tional murderers  of  their  generation! 

It  was  a  tremendous  thing.  By  the  time  he  had 
stepped  up  to  the  spacious  door  of  Theodore 
Dalton's  home,  the  tremendousness  of  it  had  so 
overcome  Hobart  Hitchin  that  he  could  not  have 
reasoned  out  the  two  times  two  multiplication 
table !  He  was  for  the  time  a  man  bereft  of  what 
most  of  us  consider  senses,  so  that  he  walked 
straight  past  Bates  and  said: 

"Mr.  Dalton!" 

"You're  bringing  word,  sir?"  Bates  cried 


252  IN  AND  OUT 

"I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Dalton.  He  is  at  home," 
said  Hitchin. 

Bates  considered  for  a  moment  and  then  nod- 
ded; it  was  no  morning  for  quibbling. 

"In  here,  sir!"  he  said,  pattering  off  quickly  to 
Dalton's  study. 

He  pattered  out  again  as  quickly,  and  Hobart 
Hitchin,  having  taken  a  chair,  rose  from  it  at  once 
and  took  to  walking,  brief-case  still  clutched  in 
his  hand  and  an  exalted  smile  on  his  lips.  So 
Theodore  Dalton  found  him  when  he  entered, 
fifteen  seconds  later — a  mighty  man,  deep  of  chest, 
savage  of  eye,  square  of  chin,  with  great  hairy 
hands  and  a  shaggy  gray  head.  Not  more  than 
a  single  second  did  Dalton  look  at  Hitchin  before 
he  barked : 

"Well?  Well?  You  are  bringing  word  of 
her?" 

"Her?"  smiled  Hobart  Hitchin,  with  unearthly 
calm. 

"My  daughter!"  Theodore  Dalton  thundered. 
"What " 

"I  know  nothing  about  your  daughter,  Dalton," 
Hitchin  said,  with  his  icy  smile.  "Will  you  be 
seated?" 


IN  THE  BOX  253 

< 

"No!"  said  the  master  of  the  house.    "What 

the  devil  do  you  want  here,  if  it  isn't  about  my 
daughter?" 

"I  want  just  five  minutes  conversation  with  you, 
on  a  matter  which  concerns  you  most  vitally." 

Theodore  Dalton  closed  his  hairy  fists. 

"Look  here,  sir,"  he  said,  with  a  calm  of  his 
own  which  was  decidedly  impressive.  "If  you're 
jackass  enough  to  come  in  here  on  the  morning 
when  my  daughter — my  daughter — has  disap- 
peared— if  you're  clown  enough  to  try  to  sell  me 
anything " 

"I'm  not  trying  to  sell  you  anything;  I'm  try- 
ing to  tell  you  something!"  Hitchin  said,  and  there 
was  something  so  very  peculiar  about  his  smile 
that  even  Theodore  Dalton  postponed  the  forcible 
eviction  for  a  few  minutes. 

"Tell  me  what?" 

"Dalton,"  said  Hobart  Hitchin,  "the  game  is 
up!" 

'What?"  rasped  Mr.  Dalton. 

"The  boy,  David  Prentiss— or  what  remains 
of  the  boy,  David  Prentiss — has  just  been  brought 
into  your  house.  And  I  know!" 

Theodore  Dalton  said  nothing;  for  a  moment 


254  IN  AND  OUT 

he  could  say  nothing.  Hitchin's  teeth  showed  in 
a  triumphant  smile. 

"Murder  will  out!"  said  he.     "Murder " 

"Murder!"  Theodore  Dalton  snarled.  "What 
the " 

"David  Prentiss,  who  was  murdered  last  night, 
has  been  brought  here !"  the  palpable  lunatic  pur- 
sued. "Don't  shout!  Don't  try  to  strike  me! 
Look!" 

Already  he  had  opened  the  brief-case;  now, 
with  a  dramatic  whisk,  he  spread  the  trousers  on 
the  table. 

And  if  he  looked  for  an  effect  upon  Dalton,  the 
effect  was  there  even  in  excess  of  any  expectation ! 
Theodore  Dalton,  after  one  quick  downward 
glance,  cried  out  queerly,  thickly,  far  down  in  his 
throat!  His  eyes  seemed  to  start  from  his  head; 
his  hands,  going  out  together,  snatched  up  the 
trousers  and  held  them  nearer  to  the  window. 
With  a  jerk,  Theodore  Dalton  turned  one  of  the 
rear  pockets  inside  out  and  looked  swiftly  at  the 
little  linen  name-plate  sewed  therein  by  the  tailor 
who  had  made  them. 

The  trousers  dropped  from  his  fingers  and 
Theodore  Dalton  collapsed! 


IN  THE  BOX  255" 

Gray,  gasping,  unable  to  speak  at  first,  he 
crumpled  into  the  chair  beside  the  table  and  stared 
up  numbly  at  Hobart  Hitchin,  who  smiled  just  as 
he  had  always  meant  to  smile  in  the  event  of 
such  a  moment  coming  before  his  death. 

"You — you!"  Dalton  choked.  "You  say — the 
wearer  of  those  trousers  has  been  murdered?" 

"As  you  know,"  said  Hobart  Hitchin.  "The 
boy " 

"A  boy  about  twenty-two,  smooth  shaven — a 
nice  kid — a  boy  with  a  shock  of  brown  hair  and — 

and "  Theodore  Dalton  cried,  in  a  queer, 

broken  little  voice,  as  he  gripped  the  table.  "No! 
No!  Not  that  boy!" 

"That  boy!"  said  Hitchin.    "David  Prentiss!" 

Dalton's  whole  soul  seemed  to  burst! 

"It  was  no  David  Prentiss!"  he  cried.  "My — 
my  daughter's  gone  and  now  my  only  son  has 
been  murdered  I" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CONCERNING  THREE  GROUPS 

FOR  the  first  time,  Wilkins  looked  at  Mr. 
Bates  and  thought  swiftly.    Having  thought 
for  half  a  minute,  he  had  accomplished  a 
complete  circle   and  was  exactly  where  he  had 
started.     It  was  plain  that  the  maid  Felice  was 
somewhere  else ;  equally  plain  was  it  that,  for  the 
purpose  of  the  moment,  the  maid  Felice  could 
satisfactorily  be  in  but. one  place — and  that  right 
here! 

Had  she  merely  been  out  for  a  little  time  he 
could  have  taken  the  trunk  to  her  room  and, 
opening  the  lid  a  bit,  could  have  fled  with  his  task 
accomplished;  she  was,  however,  out  permanently 
— so  that  the  very  best  Wilkins  had  accomplished 
at  the  end  of  a  full  minute  was: 

"Out?    Quite  so.     But  where  has  the  young 
person  gone,  if  you  please?" 
Mr.  Bates  scowled  angrily. 
256 


CONCERNING  THREE  GROUPS    257 

"We  don't  know,  I've  told  you!"  he  said 
sharply.  "When  one  of  the  help's  dismissed 
under  circumstances  like  that,  we  don't  trouble  to 
ask  where  she's  going  and  we  don't  keep  her  ad- 
dress." 

"But  she  might  be  having  mail  to  forward " 

Wilkins  essayed  hopefully. 

"Any  mail  that  comes  for  her'll  be  handed  to 
the  carrier  again,"  Bates  snapped.  "And  now 
will  you  get  her  box  out  of  here,  you?  I  can't 
have  it  about,  and  I've  no  time  this  morning  to 
argue  with  you.  The  master's  daughter's  disap- 
peared and  we're  all  on  edge." 

"And  not  a  soul  in  the  world  knowing  where 
she's  gone,  poor  lamb !"  sniveled  the  under-laun- 
dress,  laying  a  hand  on  the  trunk  that  held  Mary. 
"And  her  that  home-loving  she  never " 

"Hush!"  said  Mr.  Bates. 

The  woman  subsided  into  her  apron. 

"Whatever's  taken  her,  she's  trying  to  get 
home !  She's  trying -"  she  sobbed. 

"Well,  whatever's  taken  her,  get  that  trunk  out 
of  here!"  the  Dalton  butler  snapped. 

Was  there  anything  else  to  do?  Wilkins,  hav- 
ing thought  until  his  head  ached,  could  not  see  it. 


258  IN  AND  OUT 

If  the  girl  had  a  friend  among  the  help,  it  might 
be  left  with  the  friend;  but  the  only  woman  of 
the  household  present  had  taken  pains  to  look 
properly  scandalized  at  each  mention  of  Felice. 
Or  if  Mary  hadn't  cautioned  him  particularly 
against  this  Bates,  he  would  have  risked  taking 
Bates  aside  and  communicating  the  astounding 
truth. 

But  since  things  were  as  they  were,  and  not  as 
they  might  have  been;  since  Bates  was  actually 
glaring  at  him  now,  and  would,  in  another  minute, 
be  banging  the  trunk  back  to  the  street  himself, 
there  was  really  nothing  left  for  Wilkins  but  to 
grip  the  wide  handle  and  start  slowly  for  the  door 
again. 

It  was  bad!  Oh,  it  was  very  bad,  with  Mary 
in  there  and  very  likely  stifling  to  death,  but  Wil- 
kins shuffled  slowly  back  to  the  taxicab  with  his 
burden,  slowly  and  carefully  put  it  aboard  once 
more. 

"What's  wrong?"  asked  the  driver. 

"The  party  it  was  for  had  left!"  said  Wilkins. 

"Whereto?" 

Wilkins  pondered  heavily. 

"Back  again  where  we  came  from,"  he  sighed. 


CONCERNING  THREE  GROUPS    259 

"But  you  might  go  rather  slow,  I  think.  Like 
enough  I'll  change  my  mind  and  decide  to  take 
it  somewhere  else.  I  can't  say  at  the  moment." 

Clambering  after  himself,  he  looked  about  while 
the  man  hopped  out  and  cranked  his  motor. 
Failure  had  leaped  out  and  blasted  the  flower  of 
success,  just  as  every  petal  had  opened  wide ! 
Utter  failure  was  the  portion  of  Wilkins — and 
the  policeman  on  the  far  corner  was  watching  him 
in  the  most  disconcerting  way. 

Squinting  over  there  in  the  sunshine,  the  blue- 
coat's  instinct  was  telling  him  that  there  was  some- 
thing wrong  about  the  trunk.  He  moved  to  the 
other  side  of  the  lamp-post  and  stared  on;  and 
just  here  his  sergeant  appeared  from  the  side 
street  and  the  officer  addressed  him,  even  pointing 
with  his  club  at  the  taxi ! 

Faithful  Wilkins's  heart  stopped  I  When  an 
officer  approaches  and  asks  one  to  open  a  trunk 
or  bag,  one  opens  it  or  goes  up.  Having  opened 
this  one,  it  was  almost  a  certainty  that  one  would 
go  up  also — and  with  that  one  would  go  Mary 
Dalton,  and  in  the  evening  papers  one  of  the  most 
startling  stories  of  the  year  would  be  featured. 

We  all  of  us  have  a  peculiar  way  of  seeing  our 


260  IN  AND  OUT. 

own  side  of  any  given  case  before  examining  the 
others ;  so  it  was  with  Wilkins.  Wilkins  saw  him- 
self dismissed  from  what  was  really  a  very  ex- 
cellent, very  well-paid,  very  easy  job;  he  saw  An- 
thony cursing  himself  and  his  stupidity  and  order- 
ing him  out  of  his  sight  forever  I 

"Can't  you  start?"  he  shot  at  his  driver. 

"Well,  I'm  just  sitting  down,"  that  person 
stated  acidly. 

"Well,  get  her  a-going  and  then  turn  around; 
don't  go  over  there,  but  go  back  up  this  block  I 
And  start!"  said  Wilkins. 

The  cab  started  and  turned,  and  he  did  not 
look  behind.  He  had  not  need  for  that;  he  could 
feel  the  official  eyes  boring  through  the  back  of 
the  cab  and  into  himself;  he  could  hear  running 
feet;  once  he  was  quite  sure  he  heard  the  pound- 
ing of  a  club  on  the  curb,  which  meant  that  every 
officer  in  hearing  would  flock  into  sight.  Wilkins, 
becoming  stony  of  countenance  after  a  struggle, 
shut  his  teeth  and  sat  back,  quite  forgetting  that 
Mary  might  welcome  a  breath  or  two  of  the  outer 
air. 

It  was  possible,  after  a  little,  if  the  police  did 
not  appear  and  stop  the  machine,  that  he  would 


CONCERNING  THREE  GROUPS  "261 

order  the  cab  into  the  country  and  there  release 
Mary,  hat  or  no  hat — but  somehow  Wilkins 
doubted  whether  he  would  make  that  decision. 

What  he  craved  more  than  anything  else  just 
now  was  security  behind  brick  and  stone  walls — 
like  the  Lasande's. 

Be  it  said  that  Hobart  Hitchin  had  regained 
enough  of  his  normal  senses  to  feel  distinctly 
startled.  His  vision  cleared  considerably  as  he 
looked  at  Theodore  Dalton,  crouching  behind  his 
table.  He  felt,  in  spite  of  himself,  that  Dalton's 
grief  was  perfectly  genuine,  but  the  utter  mystery 
of  the  thing  swept  over  him,  too,  and  he  leaned 
forward  and  asked : 

"What  did  you  say,  sir?     Your  son?" 
"These — these  I"    Dalton    said,    clutching   the 
trousers.     "My  son  Dick's — his  fishing  suit." 
"And  your  son,  where  is  he  supposed  to  be?" 
"In  the  north  woods,  somewhere,  although  I 
haven't  heard  from  him  for  a   week,"   Dalton 
choked;  and  then,  being  a  powerful  character,  he 
threw  off  the  hideous  numbness  and  straightened 
up.    "What  did  you  say?    What  were  you  trying 
to  tell  me?    Where  did  you  get — these?" 


262  IN  AND  OUT 

"From  the  dumbwaiter  where " 

"What  dumbwaiter?" 

"In  the  Hotel  Lasande." 

"When?" 

"Very  early  this  morning." 

"How  did  you  come  to " 

"I  saw  a  young  man  when  he  went  into  the 
house  last  night;  I  live  there,  you  know.  I  had 
reason  to  think  that  something  happened  to  him 
overnight,  and  this  morning  I  managed  to  snatch 
this  suit  from  the  dumbwaiter  as  it  passed  my 
door.  Further " 

"What  was  he  doing  there?" 

"He  came  home  last  night  with  a  gentleman 
you  know,"  said  Hobart  Hitchin.  "One  Anthony 
Fry!" 

"The  liniment  Fry?"  cried  Theodore  Dalton. 

His  gray  face  turned  white  and  then  purple. 
He  rose  and  ran  one  hand  through  his  shaggy 
gray  mop. 

"The  liniment  Fry,"  Hitchin  said. 

"My  boy — my  Dicky  went  home  with  that 
man?" 

"A  boy  was  introduced  to  me  as  David  Pren- 
tiss." 


CONCERNING  THREE  GROUPS    263 

Dalton's  hands  clutched  his  forehead  for  a 
moment  and  the  grinding  of  his  teeth  was 
audible. 

"You  were  saying — what  were  you  saying  about 
a  trunk?" 

"I  said  that  the  remains  of  the  boy  had  been 
brought  here  by  Fry's  personal  servant,  sir.  I 
saw  them  taken  into  the  side  gate  not  ten  minutes 
ago  and " 

"Come!"  said  Theodore  Dalton. 

He  reached  out  and,  gripping  Hitchin's  arm, 
decided  that  gentleman's  course  for  him.  As 
Theodore  Dalton  strode  to  the  back  of  the  house 
and  to  the  back  stairs,  as  he  went  straight  down 
and  into  and  through  the  kitchen,  Hobart  Hitchin 
merely  went  along,  partly  in  stumbles,  partly  in 
little  jumps;  and  so  they  came  to  the  laundry  and, 
nerving  himself  until  the  veins  stood  out  on  his 
temples,  Dalton  faced  his  butler  and  spoke  thickly: 

"The— the  trunk!" 

"Beg  pardon,  sir?"  said  Bates  humbly. 

"The  trunk  which  was  brought  here !  Where 
is  it?'" 

"Oh,  that  trunk,  sir.  It  was  took  away  again, 
Mr.  Dalton.  The  person  that  brought  it  said  it 


264  IN  AND  OUT, 

was  for  Felice,  the  maid  we  dismissed  this  morn- 
ing, sir." 

"For  Felice?"  Dalton  echoed. 

"Quite  so,  sir." 

"Why  was  it  sent  to  Felice?" 

"I  couldn't  say,  sir,"  said  Bates,  stepping  to 
the  gate  and  opening  it.  "There  it  goes,  sir,  on 
the  cab.  Shall  I  send  after  it?" 

Dalton  leaned  heavily  against  Hobart  Hitchin. 

"Goes— where?" 

"Well,  I'm  not  sure  as  it  was  his  voice,  sir, 
but  I  think,  standing  out  here,  I  heard  him  tell 
the  man  to  go  back  where  they  came  from." 

Followed  quite  a  tableau. 

Bates  stared  respectfully  at  his  master.  Hobart 
Hitchin,  who  had  not  as  yet  had  time  to  form 
a  complete  new  set  of  theories,  merely  stood  and 
frowned.  But  although  Theodore  Dalton  did  not 
move,  he  did  not  seem  still. 

His  face,  in  fact,  mirrored  the  whole  gamut 
of  human  emotions  of  the  darker  sort;  overwhelm- 
ing sorrow  was  there  at  first,  and  then,  succeeding 
slowly,  amazement  and  unbelief,  and  after  them 
trembling  anger.  Black  fire  shot  from  his  deep- 
set  eyes,  as.  they  switched  to  Hitchin;  his  lips  be- 


CONCERNING  THREE  GROUPS    265 

came  a  ghastly  white  line;  his  mighty  chest  rose 
and  fell;  and  now  he  had  taken  Hobart  Hitchin's 
arm  again  and  led  him  back  to  a  dusky  corridor. 

"You!"  said  Dalton.  "I  don't  know  who  you 
are  and  why  you  came  here;  but  this  I  ask  you, 
and  if  you  don't  answer  truthfully,  God  help  you ! 
Does  that  trunk,  to  your  belief,  contain  the  body 
of  the  boy  you  call  Prentiss?" 

"To  my  almost  certain  knowledge  I" 

"And  he  was  murdered  in  the  apartment  of 
Anthony  Fry?" 

"He  was,  sir,  and " 

"Come!"  said  Theodore  Dalton,  once  more, 
and  they  returned  to  the  study  in  a  series  of 
stumbles  and  little  jumps. 

Once  in  the  dark,  handsome  room  Theodore 
Dalton  walked  straight  to  the  cabinet  in  the  corner 
and,  with  a  key,  opened  the  topmost  drawer.  He 
extracted  therefrom  a  heavy  automatic  pistol  and 
slipped  out  its  magazine.  He  opened  a  box  of 
cartridges  and  filled  the  little  box;  and  then  it 
had  clicked  into  the  handle  of  the  automatic,  and 
the  pistol  itself  was  in  his  pocket. 

"There  was  a  cab  leaving  the  door  when  you 
came,"  he  said  quietly.  "Did  you  dismiss  it?" 


266  IN  AND  OUT 

"I — I  believe  so,"  said  Hobart  Hitchin,  who 
as  an  actual  fact  liked  neither  the  sight  of  the 
weapon  nor  the  sight  of  Dalton  just  now. 

"Bates!"  Dalton  spoke  into  the  little  interior 
telephone.  "My  car!" 

"If  you're  going  somewhere "  escaped  Ho- 
bart Hitchin. 

"I  am  going  to  see  Anthony  Fry.  You  are 
going  with  me.  You  are  going  to  accuse  him,  in 
my  presence,  of  the  crime,"  said  Theodore  Dalton, 
with  the  same  ominous  calm.  "And  when  you 
have  accused  him,  I  shall  do  the  rest !  Sit  down !" 

Anthony  Fry,  because  there  was  more  relief  in 
him  than  flesh  and  blood,  leaned  back  in  his  pet 
chair  and  gazed  at  the  ceiling,  long,  steadily, 
happily.  He  would  have  liked  to  smoke,  yet  he 
declined  to  make  the  effort  which  would  break 
the  delicious  lassitude  that  possessed  him.  He 
would  have  liked  to  sing,  too,  and  clap  Johnson 
Boiler  on  the  back  and  assure  him  that  all  was 
well  in  the  best  possible  world — but  for  a  little  it 
was  enough  to  sneer  smilingly  at  Boiler's  bent 
head. 

He,  poor  fool,  fancied  that  all  was  over  because 


CONCERNING  THREE  GROUPS    267 

his  infernal  wife  had  threshed  around  a  bit  and 
gone  off  clutching  poor  little  Mary's  hat — a  funny 
thing  in  itself.  Instead  of  getting  up  and  cheering 
at  his  prospective  freedom  from  the  matrimonial 
yoke,  Johnson  was  groaning  there  and  clawing 
into  his  hair;  and  now,  by  the  way,  he  was  raising 
his  head  and  turning  toward  his  old  friend. 

"Anthony!"  Johnson  Boiler  said  faintly. 

"What  is  it?" 

''You  wouldn't  pull  a  thing  like  that  on 
me?" 

"I  certainly  shall,  if  you  ever  try  to  tell  the 
truth  about  Miss  Dalton." 

"But  what  did  she  ever  do  for  me,  to  let  her 
confounded  reputation  wreck  my  life?  All  she 
ever  did  was  to  make  a  female  ass  of  herself  by 
wearing  pants  and  going  to  a  prize  fight  and  then 
listening  to  you.  Why  should  a  thing  like  that 
bust  up  my  home?" 

Anthony  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"It  may  not,"  said  he. 

"It  has !"  Johnson  Boiler  said  feverishly.  "And 
listen,  Anthony!  You  and  I  have  to  stand  to- 
gether, old  man.  The  girl's  out  of  the  way,  so 
that  clears  your  skirts  for  a  while,  but  what  about 


268  IN  AND  OUT 

Hitchin?  What  if  he  calls  in  the  police  this 
afternoon?" 

Anthony  laughed;  with  Mary  out  of  the  way 
he  was  another  man. 

"We'll  let  that  take  care  of  itself.  For  that 
matter,  why  not  go  down  and  tell  Hitchin  the 
truth  and  show  him  what  a  fool  he's  making  of 
himself?  He's  a  gentleman,  I  suppose;  if  we 
swear  him  to  secrecy  he's  not  likely  to  talk." 

"And  if  we  call  him  off,  then  we'll  find  Bee  and 
tell  her  the  truth,  too?"  Johnson  Boiler  asked 
eagerly.  "She's  a  lady,  Anthony.  If  we  swear 
her  to  secrecy,  she'll  never  talk — and  maybe  we 
could  explain  it  to  the  girl  and  have  her  verify 
what  we  say,  hey?" 

Anthony  actually  yawned  and  stretched  as  he 
arose. 

"We'll  settle  Hitchin  first,"  he  smiled.  "Come 
along!" 

He  lounged  out  of  the  flat  and  to  the  stairs, 
Boiler  hugging  close  to  his  side.  He  yawned 
again  as  he  pressed  the  buzzer  of  the  Hitchin 
apartment,  and  he  even  smiled  condescendingly 
at  the  inscrutable  Japanese  who  answered. 

"Mr.  Hitchin,"  said  Anthony.     "Say  that  Mr. 


CONCERNING  THREE  GROUPS    269 

Fry  and  Mr.  Boiler  wish  to  see  him,  if  you 
please." 

The  Japanese  shook  his  head. 

"He  no  home!" 

"Out?"  said  Anthony  in  some  astonishment. 

"Yes,  sir,  li'P  while  ago,"  the  Oriental  said. 
"He  go  very  quick." 

"And  he  will  be  back— when?" 

"Mr.  Hitchin  no  say,  sir!"  the  Japanese  sighed. 

Therefore  they  turned  back  to  the  stairs;  and 
as  they  came  to  the  foot  of  the  flight  Johnson 
Boiler  gripped  his  friend's  arm  suddenly  and 
looked  whitely  at  him. 

"It's  all  over!"  he  said. 

"What?" 

"The  trunk!  The  trunk  she  went  out  in! 
Didn't  he  say  something  about  not  sending  out 
anything?" 

"That  has  no  connection  with  his  going  out!" 
Anthony  snapped,  although  some  of  his  insouci- 
ance fled. 

"Hasn't  it,  though?  Well,  it  has  every  con- 
nection! He's  chased  Wilkins  and,  long  before 
this,  he's  called  a  cop  and  had  him  taken  in !  The 
whole  thing's  over,  Anthony.  That  trunk's  in  a 


27o  IN  AND  OUT 

police  station  now  and  they've  opened  it — and 
your  Dalton  man's  daughter  is  behind  the  bars 
as  a  suspicious  character  before  this." 

Anthony  Fry's  scowl  turned  black. 

"Can't  you  see  me  peaceful,  without  trying  to 
smash  it  by  babbling  a  lot  of  rot  like  that?"  he 
demanded  angrily.  "Wilkins  must  have  the  girl 
inside  her  home  by  this  time  and " 

"Why  should  you  be  peaceful  and  happy  when 
my  home's  wrecked?"  Johnson  Boiler  asked  hotly. 

"We  will  not  discuss  it  out  here,"  said  his  host, 
leading  the  way  upstairs  again. 

Dismally  he  trailed  through  the  door  he  had 
left  so  cheerfully  a  moment  ago.  Johnson  Boiler 
trailed  after  him  even  more  dismally,  albeit  with 
some  grim  satisfaction  at  his  altered  mien. 

"We  can  sit  down  here  and  wait  now,"  he 
stated.  "We  don't  have  to  do  anything  more  than 
that,  Anthony.  We  can  figure  it  all  out.  Either 
he  has  had  the  trunk  and  Wilkins  taken  in,  or 
he's  Just  determined  that  our  guilt  is  cinched.  If 
the  former,  all  creation  knows  by  this  time  that 
Dalton's  daughter  was  up  to  something — queer. 
If  there's  a  general  alarm  out  for  her,  they'll 
recognize  her  when  she  comes  out  of  that  trunk. 


CONCERNING  THREE  GROUPS    271 

On  the  other  hand,  if  Hitchin  has  let  the  trunk 
go,  he's  having  warrants  sworn  out  by  this  time 
and  they're  dusting  off  the  seats  in  the  nearest 
patrol-wagon.  Either  Dalton  gets  you  and  prob- 
ably me,  too,  or  the  police  get  us.  That's  all  that 
can  happen  and " 

"Stop !"  Anthony  barked.  "I  don't  care  a  rap 
what  happens,  so  long  as  the  girl  is  not  laid  open 
to  suspicion,  and  I  don't  believe  Hitchin  or  any- 
body else  is  going  to  contrive  that,  once  Wilkins 
started  to  deliver  the  trunk.  That  is  my  sole 
concern  now — to  shield  her!" 

Having  delivered  which  commendable  senti- 
ment, Anthony  demonstrated  his  entire  calm  by 
rising  with  a  nervous  jerk,  by  listening,  and  finally 
by  striding  to  the  door  of  his  apartment,  which 
he  opened. 

Thereafter  he  stepped  back  suddenly,  for 
with  one  searing  glance  at  him  a  woman  had 
passed. 

She  was  in  the  living-room  even  now,  and  smil- 
ing horribly  at  Johnson  Boiler.  She  was,  in  a 
word,  Johnson  Boiler's  wife,  and  her  black  eyes 
snapped  more  ominously  than  before. 

"Don't  touch  me!"  she  was  saying,  as  Johnson 


272  IN  AND  OUX 

Boiler  approached  with  hands  outstretched.  "I've 
come  back,  but  only  to  tell  you !" 

"To  tell  me  that  you've  changed  your  mind, 
little  pigeon?"  Johnson  Boiler  cried  brokenly. 
"You're  going  to  let  Pudgy-wudgy " 

"Faugh!"  said  the  lady,  and  from  her  radiated 
the  Spanish  grandmother  and  all  the  strain  im- 
plied— blood  lust,  vengeance !  "No,  I've  come  to 
tell  you  that  I  mean  to  make  that  woman's  name 
a  scandal  and  a  byword  from  end  of  town  to  the 
other.  Not  some  woman's  name,  but  the  woman's 
name!" 

"But " 

"How  can  I  do  it?"  laughed  the  different  Mrs. 
Boiler.  "I've  found  out  who  she  is  1" 


CHAPTER  XV 

THICK  AND  FAST 

HOWEVER  faint  the  appeal  it  made  to 
Johnson  Boiler,  Anthony's  statement  had 
been  the  literal  truth — his  sole  concern 
just  now  was  the  shielding  of  Mary  Dalton. 

More  and  more,  these  last  calmer  minutes,  the 
ghastly  aspect  of  the  case  as  viewed  from  the 
woman's  side  had  appealed  to  him.  It  is  entirely 
possible  that  a  little  real  mental  suffering  had 
rendered  Anthony  Fry  less  selfish  and  more  con- 
siderate of  the  rest  of  the  human  race — Johnson 
Boiler  always  excepted — than  he  had  been  for 
many  years. 

Whatever  the  cause,  the  weight  of  his  own  guilt 
was  bearing  down  harder  and  harder,  and  he  was 
prepared  to  go  to  extreme  lengths  if  necessary  in 
the  way  of  keeping  Mary's  adventure  an  eternal 
secret. 

But  like  many  another  plan  and  resolve  of  this 
273 


274  IN  AND  OUT 

bedeviled  night  and  morning,  the  latest  had  been 
blasted  to  flinders ! 

Beatrice  Boiler,  standing  there  with  Mary's  hat 
still  clutched  tight  and  partly  broken,  was  not 
smiling  the  smile  of  a  woman  who  fancied  herself 
on  the  right  track.  She  smiled  the  smile  of  one 
who  knew  exactly  where  she  stood.  Her  lips 
curled  now  as  she  examined  the  worm  that  had 
been  her  husband,  and  she  perched  on  the  edge 
of  the  center-table. 

"Unfortunate,  isn't  it,  that  you  didn't  pick  some 
poor  drab  from  the  streets?"  she  asked,  signi- 
ficantly and  triumphantly.  "Unfortunate  for  you 
and  unfortunate  for  her !" 

"Well,  this— well,  this "  Johnson  Boiler 

tried. 

"Don't  talk  to  me,  please.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you — oh,  not  for  my  sake  or  for  your  sake,  to 
be  sure.  I  don't  know  how  much  real  man  may  be 
left  in  either  of  you;  not  very  much,  I  imagine. 
But  if  you  do  want  to  save  two  innocent  women 
from  a  good  deal  of  embarrassment,  you  shall 
have  the  chance." 

She  laughed  again  as  she  watched  the  effect  of 
the  cryptic  statement.  She  sat  down,  then,  and 


THICK  AND  FAST  275 

having  opened  her  hand-bag  and  drawn  therefrom 
a  little  slip  of  paper,  she  resumed  her  inspection 
of  the  silent  pair. 

"You  don't  understand  at  all,  do  you?  Well, 
you  shall!  Your  lady  friend  made  one  mistake, 
gentlemen.  Any  young  woman  off  on  that  sort  of 
adventure  should  be  cautious  enough  to  destroy 
marks  of  identification.  This  hat,  as  it  happens, 
came  from  Mme.  Altier,  just  uptown." 

"The  little  blonde?"  escaped  from  Johnson 
Boiler. 

"The  little  blonde,"  sneered  his  wife.  "The 
little  blonde  is  quite  a  friend  of  mine;  I  lent  her 
the  money  that  started  her  in  business  up  this  way, 
in  fact,  and  I've  been  buying  hats  there  for  five 
years.  Therefore,  I  went  and  interviewed  the 
little  blonde,  and  her  memory  and  her  methods 
of  bookkeeping  are  alike  commendable.  She 
might  not  have  told  another  woman,  but  she  was 
very  glad  to  tell  me." 

Beatrice  gazed  at  the  slip  briefly. 

"Mrs.  Henry  Wales !"  she  said  very  suddenly 
indeed,  and  sent  her  eyes  straight  through  both 
of  them  at  once. 

Innocent  for  once,  Anthony  and  Johnson  Bol- 


276  IN  AND  OUT 

ler  merely  frowned  at  Beatrice,  and  after  a  little 
she  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Not  Mrs.  Henry  Wales,  evidently,"  she 
mused.  "Very  well;  I  was  right  about  her.  I've 
met  her,  I  think,  and  she  seemed  a  little  bit  too 
nice  for  that  sort  of  thing.  Er — Laura  Cath- 
cart!" 

Once  more  the  word  was  hurled  straight  into 
them.  Once  more  Anthony  and  his  old  friend 
stared  innocently — but  they  did  a  little  more  this 
time.  They  turned  and  stared  at  one  another, 
and  all  the  air  between  them  vibrated  with  a 
wordless  message! 

Beatrice  had  made  one  grave  tactical  error  in 
not  reading  the  right  name  first;  Anthony  and 
his  friend  understood  now  and  were  quite  pre- 
pared for  anything — and  it  seemed  almost  as  if 
Beatrice  sensed  the  message,  for  she  frowned  a 
little  as  she  said: 

"MaryDalton!" 

Blankly,  innocently  as  babes  unborn,  and  still 
not  too  innocently  withal,  Anthony  and  Johnson 
Boiler  stared  back,  and  the  latter  even  had  as- 
surance enough  to  say: 

"What's  the  idea,  Bee?    Is  it  a  roll-call?" 


THICK  AND  FAST  277, 

"It  is  the  names  of  the  three  women  in  New 
York  who  have  bought  that  particular  style  of  hat 
from  Sarah,"  said  Mrs.  Boiler.  "She  made  up 
just  three,  as  is  her  custom,  and  when  they  were 
sold  she  made  no  more.  So  that  in  spite  of  your 
extreme  wonder  at  hearing  the  names,  and  al- 
though I  had  rather  hoped  to  guess  which  one 
it  might  be,  one  of  that  trio  was  in  this  flat  last 
night.  Which  one?" 

Johnson  Boiler  shook  his  head  vigorously. 

"None  of  'em!"  he  said  flatly. 

"What  do  you  say?"  Beatrice  asked  Anthony. 

"Madam,  I  decline  to  say  anything  whatever!" 
Anthony  said  stiffly. 

"Really?"  smiled  Beatrice,  and  gazed  at  them 
pensively  for  a  little  while.  "I  do  not  know  in- 
timately any  of  these  ladies.  They  have,  doubt- 
less, a  husband  and  fathers  and,  I  hope,  a  few 
big  brothers,  too,  to  take  care  of  them  properly. 
And  since  they  have,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  just 
what  I  mean  to  do.  I'm  going  to  Mrs.  Wales 
first." 

It  produced  no  visible  shock. 

"I'm  going  to  accuse  her,  in  so  many  words, 
of  passing  last  night  in  this  apartment,  and  I'll 


278  IN  AND  OUT 

say  you  confessed!"  pursued  Beatrice.  "Perhaps 
she  can  clear  herself  by  showing  me  the  duplicate 
of  this  hat;  perhaps  she  cannot  In  any  event,  it 
seems  probable  that  her  husband  and  the  rest  of 
her  male  relatives  will  make  a  point  of  coming 
here  and  beating  you  two  to  a  jelly." 

It  did  seem  rather  likely,  and  Johnson  Boiler 
glanced  at  his  old  friend  and  received  no  aid  at  all. 

"Unless  she  confesses,  Miss  Cathcart  receives 
the  next  call,"  said  Johnson's  wife.  "The  pro- 
cedure will  be  the  same;  the  results  to  you,  I  sin- 
cerely hope,  will  be  the  same.  After  that,  if  neces- 
sary, I  shall  go  to  the  Dalton  woman's  home  and 
repeat  the  performance,  and  doubtless  her  father 
and  her  brothers  will " 

"Say!  Do  you  want  to  have  us  killed?"  John- 
son Boiler  gasped. 

"Yes!"  hissed  the  Spanish  strain  in  Beatrice. 
"Well?" 

Anthony  shook  his  head  quietly. 

"None  of  the  ladies  you  have  mentioned " 

he  began. 

"One  of  them  was  here,  and  I'll  soon  know 
which  one!"  Beatrice  corrected  quickly.  "Do  you 
wish  to  save  the  other  two?" 


THICK  AND  FAST  279 

Anthony  said  nothing. 

"Nope!"  Johnson  Boiler  said  doggedly. 

Beatrice  rose  slowly  and  looked  them  over. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  she,  all  withering  con- 
tempt, "I  had  been  fool  enough  to  fancy  that 
there  was  man  enough  in  one  or  the  other  of  you 
to  spare  the  innocent  women  a  very  distressing 
quarter  of  an  hour.  Even  if  that  failed,  I  had 
fancied  that  one  or  the  other  would  have  sufficient 
intelligence  to  avoid  a  thrashing  if  possible.  I 
was  wrong!  There  isn't  a  spark  of  manhood  or 
an  ounce  of  brain  matter  in  either  of  you — and  to 
think  that  I  married  you!" 

She  had  risen.  She  was  getting  ready  to  go 
upon  her  fell  mission;  and  the  calm  contempt  slid 
away  from  Anthony  and  cold  terror  crawled  up 
his  spinal  column.  Just  when  he  had  fondly 
imagined  that  all  was  well,  Beatrice  had  come 
and  proved  that  all  was  anything  else  in  the  world ! 

Just  when  he  had  fancied  that  Mary  was  safe 
at  home  and,  with  her  doubtless  capable  maid, 
was  devising  a  convincing  tale  to  account  for  her 
absence,  Beatrice  must  needs  appear  and  show 
that,  tale  or  no  tale,  Mary  was  to  be  accused. 

And  there  wasn't  a  flaw  in  her  program,  by  the 


280  IN  AND  OUT 

way.  She  held  the  hat  as  a  man  might  cling  to  a 
straw  in  mid-ocean ;  and  the  lady  who  could  show 
a  similar  hat  would  clear  herself  and  then  start 
her  male  relatives  after  Anthony;  and  the  lady 
who  could  not  show  a  similar  hat — was  Mary! 

Obviously  the  fine  resolve  he  had  made  was  to 
avail  little  enough,  but  Anthony  could  think  of 
no  way  of  staying  the  lady.  Physical  force  leaped 
up  as  a  possibility  in  his  tortured  mind  and  leaped 
out  again  as  quickly. 

One  suggestion  of  that  sort  of  thing  and  instinct 
told  him  that  Beatrice,  in  her  present  unlovely 
mood,  would  scream  until  the  rafters  echoed,  if 
they  happened  to  have  rafters  in  the  Hotel  La- 
sande.  Moral  suasion,  honeyed  talk  were  still 
farther  from  the  possibilities.  No,  Beatrice  would 
have  to  go! 

She  was  ready  now.  Habit  superseding  cir- 
cumstances, Beatrice  had  stepped  to  the  mirror 
and  tucked  up  a  few  stray  locks  of  hair.  The  little 
hat  was  under  her  arm,  and  the  arm  had  shut 
down  tight  on  it. 

"You  two  curs!"  Beatrice  said,  by  way  of  fare- 
well, and  turned  away  from  them  with  a  sweep. 

It  was  no  apartment  in  which  to  do  what  one 


THICK  AND  FAST  281 

expected  to  do.  Beatrice,  one  step  taken,  stopped 
short.  Out  at  the  door  some  one  was  hammering 
in  a  way  oddly  familiar.  Anthony,  rising  again, 
hurried  to  answer  the  summons — and  the  door 
was  hardly  open  when  young  Robert  Vining 
hurtled  in  and  gripped  him  by  both  arms. 

"It's  no  use,  Anthony!"  he  gasped.  "There's 
not  a  trace  of  her  yet!" 

"No?" 

"She's  gone!  She's  gone!"  cried  Robert, 
breaking  into  his  familiar  refrain.  "I've  just  had 
the  house  on  the  wire,  and  there's  no  news  of  her 
at  all  as  yet.  I've  had  police  headquarters  on  the 
wire,  and  they  haven't  heard  or  seen  a  thing. 
Miriam — that's  one  of  her  chums — has  just  fin- 
ished going  over  Bellevue,  and  there's  no  sign  of 
Mary  down  there!" 

By  now  they  were  in  the  living-room,  and  Bea- 
trice, somewhat  startled  at  the  sign  of  a  being  in 
agony  equal  to  her  own  stood  aside. 

"She's  gone!"  said  Robert  Vining.  "And  I've 
been  around  to  Helene's — that's  another  of  her 
chums,  Anthony — and  she's  going  to  telephone  all 
the  girls.  That  takes  that  off  my  hands  and  leaves 
me  free  to  go  over  all  the  hospitals  that  haven't 


282  IN  AND  OUT 

been  covered  yet.  That's  what  brings  me  here, 
old  man.  You'll  have  to  come  with  me." 

"Very  well!"  Anthony  said  swiftly.  "We'll 
start  now." 

"Because  I  haven't  got  the  nerve  to  do  it  alone !" 
Robert  cried.  "I — somebody  has  to  go  to  the 
Morgue,  too!  And  suppose  we  should  go  down 
there — I  was  there  just  once  and  I  had  the  hor- 
rors for  a  month — suppose  we  should  go  down 
there  and  find  her,  Anthony,  all "  j 

"Hush!"  said  Anthony.  "Don't  go  into  the 
possibilities;  there's  a  lady  present,  Bob." 

Vining  almost  came  to  earth  for  a  moment. 

"What?" 

"To  be  sure.  Mrs.  Boiler — Mr.  Robert  Vin- 
ing." 

He  spoke  directly  at  her,  so  that  Robert,  out 
of  his  emotional  fog,  gained  an  idea  of  her  loca- 
tion, and  turned  dizzily  toward  her.  There  was 
upon  his  countenance  a  strained,  heartbroken, 
half-apologetic  smile  as  he  faced  Beatrice  Boiler. 
He  bowed,  too,  perfunctorily. 

Then  Robert  raised  his  stricken  eyes. 

And  as  he  raised  them,  a  great  shock  ran 
through  Robert,  and  after  it  he  stiffened.  His 


THICK  AND  FAST  283 

eyes  popped,  as  if  he  could  not  quite  believe  what 
he  saw,  and  his  body  swayed  forward.  Robert, 
with  a  hoarse,  incoherent  scream,  ran  straight  at 
Beatrice  Boiler  and  snatched  away  the  hat  from 
under  her  arm. 

"That's  Mary's  1  That's  Mary's!"  he  cried 
hysterically.  "That's  Mary's  hat,  because  I  was 
with  her  the  day  she  bought  it,  and  I'd  know  it 
among  ten  thousand  hats !  Yes,  and  it's  torn  and 
broken — it's  all  smashed  on  this  side!" 

Greenish  white,  jaw  sagging,  Robert  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  of  them. 

"You — you're  afraid  to  tell  me !"  said  he.  "She 
— there  was  an  accident !  I  can  see  that  by  the  hat. 
There  was  an  accident  and  she  was  hurt  and — 
where  is  she  now?  Where  is  she  now?  Good 
God!  Is  she— dead?" 

"She  isn't  dead,"  Anthony  said  queerly,  be- 
cause he  had  been  looking  at  Beatrice  and  feeling 
his  flesh  crawl  as  he  looked. 

"Then  where  is  Mary?  Why  don't  you  tell 
me  about  it?"  Robert  stormed  on.  "What's  the 
matter?  Is  she  badly  hurt?  Doesn't  she  want 
me?  Hasn't  she  tried  to  send  for  me?"  And 
whirling  upon  Beatrice,  the  unfortunate  young 


284  IN  AND  OUT; 

man  threw  out  his  hands  and  cried:  "You  tell 
me,  if  they  will  not!  What  has  happened  to 
her  ?  Where  did  you  get  the  hat  ?" 

Normally,  Beatrice  Boiler  was  the  very  last 
mortal  in  the  world  to  inflict  pain  upon  a  fellow- 
being;  but  the  normal  Beatrice  was  far  away  just 
now. 

As  Anthony  noted  with  failing  heart,  it  was  a 
big  moment  for  the  outraged  creature  before 
Robert  Vining,  for  she  was  about  to  make  another 
of  the  accursed  sex  to  suffer.  It  did  not  seem 
humanly  possible  that  she  could  communicate  her 
personal  view  of  Mary  to  Robert;  but  certainly 
Beatrice  was  accomplishing  a  very  dramatic  pause, 
and  in  it  her  lips  drew  back  and  showed  her 
beautiful  teeth. 

"The  young  lady  is  a  friend  of  yours,  too?"  she 
asked  very  sweetly. 

"Friend!"  cried  Robert  cried.  "She's  the  girl 
I'm  going  to  marry!  Where  is  she,  madam? 
Can't  you  tell  me  what  has  happened?" 

"Beatrice's  laugh  was  blood-curdling. 

"Mrs.  Boiler!"  Anthony  cried.  "I  pro- 
test  " 

"Do  you  really?"  Beatrice  smiled  and  turned 


THICK  AND  FAST  285 

directly  to  Robert.  "So  you're  going  to  marry 
her?" 

"What?    Yes." 

"Or  perhaps  you're  not!"  Mrs.  Boiler  mused. 
"You  think  her  a  very  worthy  young  wo- 
man?" 

Robert  looked  blankly  at  her. 

"But  she  is  not,"  Beatrice  said  softly.  "And 
you  look  like  a  decent  sort,  and  however  much  it 
may  hurt  for  a  little,  you  shall  have  the  truth. 
You  asked  me  where  I  found  this  hat.  Well,  it 
was  in  the  bedroom  at  the  end  of  that  corridor — 
Mr.  Boiler's  room!" 

She  waited  vainly  for  a  little,  because  Robert 
simply  did  not  comprehend.  He  frowned  at  Bea- 
trice and  then  shook  his  head. 

"What — what  do  you  say?" 

"It  had  been  there  all  night,  Mr.  Vining," 
Beatrice  purred  on.  "So  had  she!" 

"Mary — my  Maryf  Mary  Dalton?"  Robert 
gasped. 

"Mary  Dalton!" 

"But  that — that's  air  damned — pardon  me! — 
nonsense  I  That " 

He  turned  on  Anthony;  and  then,  quickly  as 


286  IN  AND  OUT 

he  had  turned,  he  gasped  and  stared  with  burning 
eyes. 

View  him  as  one  chose,  there  was  nothing  about 
Anthony  to  indicate  that  it  was  nonsense.  He 
was  biting  his  lips;  his  eyes  were  upon  the  floor; 
had  he  rehearsed  the  thing  for  months  he  could 
not  possibly  have  looked  more  guilty. 

"Why — why "  choked  Robert  Vining. 

Beatrice  laid  a  slender  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Come  with  me,"  she  said  quickly.  "Come  and 
see  her  bag  and  her  little  toilet  case  and  several 
other  of  her  things.  Perhaps  you'll  recognize 
them,  too,  and  they'll  convince  you  that  she  really 
settled  down  here  for  a  visit  Come !" 

As  a  man  in  a  dreadful  dream,  Robert  Vining 
followed  her  blindly  into  the  corridor  and  out  of 
sight.  Johnson  Boiler  smiled  a  demon  smile  and 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  trouser-pockets. 

"Here's  where  he  gets  his!"  he  stated.  An- 
thony could  no  more  than  speak. 

"That — that  woman!"  he  contrived.  "What 
an  absolutely  merciless  thing " 

"Huh?  Bee?"  the  remarkable  Boiler  said 
sharply.  "She's  all  right;  she's  acting  according 
to  her  own  lights,  isn't  she?  Why  the  devil 


THICK  AND  FAST  287 

shouldn't  Vining  suffer,  too?  D'ye  think  I'm  the 
only  man  in  the  world  that  has  to  suffer?" 

"I  think  you're  in  luck  if  she  divorces  you!" 
Anthony  stated  feelingly.  "A  woman  capable  of 
that  is  capable  of  anything!" 

Johnson  Boiler  stayed  the  angry  words  upon  his 
lips  and  smiled  grimly.  More,  after  a  moment 
he  thrust  out  his  hand. 

"I  guess  it  doesn't  matter  much  what  you  think 
now,  Anthony,"  said  he.  "Good-by!" 

"What?" 

"Good-by,  old  man!  You're  going  to  leave 
this  world  in  about  three  minutes,  you  know — 
just  as  soon  as  he's  convinced  and  able  to  act 
again,  Anthony.  So  long!  I'll  be  sorry  to 
think  of  you  as  missing — sometimes,  I  suppose, 
but  not  when  I  think  what  you've  put  over  on 


me." 


Anthony  laughed  viciously. 

"Don't  use  up  all  your  sympathy,"  he  said. 
"You  may  need  a  little  for  yourself,  Johnson. 
The  things  are  in  what's  supposed  to  be  your 
room,  you  know." 

"What?"  gasped  Johnson  Boiler.  "That's 
true!  That- " 


288  IN  AND  OUT] 

Out  at  the  entrance,  a  key  was  scraping  in  the 
latch ;  and  when  it  had  scraped  for  the  second  time 
Anthony  smiled  forlornly. 

"Wilkins,"  he  said.  "Back  to  report  that  the 
girl's  safe  at  home — whatever  good  that  may  do 
now.  Is  that  you,  Wilkins?" 

"That's— that's  me,  sir!"  Wilkins  puffed. 

And  the  door  closed  and  in  the  foyer  bump — 
bump — bump  indicated  that  Wilkins  was  carrying 
something,  a  trunk  one  might  almost  have  thought 
from  the  sound.  Rather  red,  gleaming  perspira- 
tion that  had  not  all  come  from  exertion,  Wilkins 
appeared,  moved  into  the  room,  gazed  feelingly 
at  his  master,  was  about  to  speak  and  then  caught 
the  sound  of  voices  from  David's  room. 

"The — the  parties  couldn't  attend  to  the  trunk 
to-day!"  said  Wilkins. 

"She — isn't  in  there?"  Anthony  whispered. 

"I  have  no  reason  to  think  otherwise,  sir,"  said 
the  faithful  one. 

"You  didn't  leave  her?" 

"There  was  no  one  to  leave  her  with,  sir,  and 
I  was  ordered  out  with  the  trunk,"  Wilkins  said, 
smiling  wanly.  "There  wasn't  nowhere  to  come 
but  here,  sir,  with  the  police  after  me." 


THICK  AND  FAST  289 

From  down  the  corridor  issued — 

"Yes!  I'm — Heaven  help  me! — I'm  con- 
vinced!" 

"I'll  be  taking  her  into  your  room,  sir,"  \Viikins 
said  hastily.  "She  must  be  needing  a  breath  of  air 
by  this  time,  poor  young  lady!" 

Another  nightmare  figure,  he  lumbered  across 
the  living-room  and  into  Anthony's  chamber;  and 
regardless  of  possible  consequences  Anthony  fol- 
lowed and  snatched  open  the  trunk. 

Mary  had  not  expired.  Her  face  was  de- 
cidedly red  and  her  eyes  rather  bewildered,  but 
she  struggled  out  with  Anthony's  assistance, 
breathed  deeply  several  times,  glanced  at  her 
hair  in  the  mirror  and  then,  being  a  thoroughly 
good  sport,  Mary  even  managed  a  small,  wretched 
laugh. 

"Back  again!"  she  said  simply.  "They'd  dis* 
charged  Felice." 

"Was  there — nobody  else?"  Anthony  asked. 

"Dorothy,  our  little  parlor  maid,  would  have 
done,  I  suppose,  but  Wilkins  didn't  know  about 
her,"  said  the  girl,  facing  him.  "It's  pretty 
awful,  isn't  it?" 

Even  now  she  had  not  lost  her  nerve!     The 


29o  IN  AND  OUT 

chivalrous  something  in  Anthony  welled  up  more 
strongly  than  ever;  the  precise,  rather  old-maidish 
quality  of  his  expression  vanished  altogether — 
and  for  the  very  first  time  Mary  almost  liked 
him. 

"It's  very  awful,  indeed,"  he  said  quickly. 
"More  awful  than  you  imagine,  but — we'll  try 
to  believe  that  all  is  not  lost  even  now.  One  way 
or  another,  I'll  get  you  out  of  it,  Miss  Mary,  if 
I  have  to  lie  my  soul  into  perdition.  I  don't 
know  how  at  the  moment,  but  the  way  will  indi- 
cate itself;  I  decline  to  believe  anything  else! 
You'll  have  to  stay  here  and  keep  your  ears  wide 
open  and  take  your  cue  from  whatever  I'm  saying. 
I  hope " 

"Psst!"  said  Johnson  Boiler. 

Anthony  left  the  room  with  a  motion  that  was 
more  twitch  than  anything  else,  and  he  left  it 
none  too  soon.  The  shock,  or  the  first  of  it,  was 
over;  Robert  Vining  was  coming  back  to  them, 
not  like  a  nice  young  man,  but  rather  like  a  Kan- 
sas cyclone!  Three  thuds  in  the  corridor,  and  he 
appeared  before  them. 

Robert's  countenance  was  gray-white;  his  white 
lips,  parted  a  little,  seemed  to  be  stretched  over 


THICK  AND  FAST  291 

his  teeth;  his  eyes  blazed  blue  fire!  And  behind 
Robert — and  be  it  confessed  that  there  was  a 
certain  indefinite  atmosphere  of  fright  about  her 
— Beatrice  smiled. 

"So  you — you — you  beastly  scoundrel!"  Robert 
began,  his  hands  working  as  he  looked  straight 
at  Johnson  Boiler  and  ignored  the  very  existence 
of  Anthony  Fry.  "I  don't  know  whether  a 
thing  like  you  can  pray,  but  if  you  can,  pray 
quick!" 

"Me?"  Johnson  Boiler  gulped. 

Robert  laughed  dreadfully. 

"Don't  waste  your  time  gaping!"  he  said, 
thickly.  "Pray  if  you  want  to,  because  you're  go* 
ing  to  die!  D'ye  hear?  I'm  going  to  choke  out 
your  nasty  life  as  I'd  choke  the  life  out  of  a  mad 
dog." 

"Not  my  life!"  Johnson  Boiler  protested,  with 
pale  lips,  as  he  pointed  at  Anthony.  "He " 

"Whatever  he  may  have  had  to  do  with  luring 
her  here  I  can  settle  with  him  afterward!"  Robert 
cried.  "My  concern  Is  with  you;  and  if  you  want 
to  say  anything,  hurry  about  it.  I  can't  hold  my- 
self more  than  another  second  or  two !" 

By  way  of  proving  it,  he  stalked  down  upon 


292  IN  AND  OUT 

Johnson  Boiler — not  rapidly,  but  with  a  deadly 
slowness  and  deliberation  which  suggested  the 
tiger  coming  down  upon  its  prey.  His  flaring 
eyes  had  fascinated  the  victim,  too,  for  Johnson 
Boiler  could  not  move  a  muscle.  Once  he  tried 
to  smile  a  farewell  at  Beatrice;  his  eyes  would 
not  remain  away  from  Robert  even  long  enough 
for  that.  Once  he  tried  to  look  at  Anthony,  but 
it  was  quite  useless. 

And  from  that  ominous  region  of  the  doorway 
came  Wilkins's  warm  tones: 

"Well,  that's  all  right,  gentlemen,  but  he's  busy 


now." 


"He's  not  too  busy  to  see  me,"  said  an  entirely 
strange  voice,  and  heavy  steps  passed  by  Wilkins. 

Into  the  large  room  which  had  already  seen  so 
much  suffering,  the  distinctly  scared  person  of 
Hobart  Hitchin  was  propelled  by  a  large,  hairy 
hand.  The  owner  of  the  hand  glanced  at  him 
for  an  instant;  and  then  for  five  terrific  seconds 
stared  at  Anthony  Fry,  who  after  the  first  violent 
start  had  turned  immobile  as  Johnson  Boiler  him- 
self. 

"Mr. — what's  your  name? — Hitchin!"  Dalton 
barked. 


THICK  AND  FAST  293 

Hobart  Hitchin  straightened  up  with  an  effort. 

"Fry,"  said  he,  "we — er — that  is,  I  accuse  you 
Of  the — ah — murder  of  Theodore  Dalton's  only 
son,  Richard,  alias  David  Prentiss !" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  LIE 

EVEN  Robert  Vining  halted  his  death  march. 
A  man  of  but  one  idea  in  the  world  just 
a  second  ago,  he  jerked  about  suddenly 
and  cried: 
"Dick?" 

Dalton  a  strong  man  half-benumbed  by  mental 
agony,  turned  slowly  upon  him. 

"Are  you — here,  too,  Robert?"  he  muttered. 
"Yes,  Dicky!" 

And  slowly  he  turned  back  to  Anthony  and, 
slowly  also,  he  drew  forth  the  automatic  in  all  its 
steely-blue  nastiness. 
"Well,  Fry?" 

Anthony  Fry  merely  shook  his  head.  The  mood 
that  was  come  upon  him  now  passed  any  explana- 
tion; he  was  neither  frightened  nor  excited.  He 
heard  the  latest  absurd  accusation  without  even 
forming  an  opinion  on  it.  Either  he  had  passed 

294 


THE  LIE  295 

the  point  where  one  may  feel  the  sensation  of 
astonishment  or  infinite  desperation  had  blessed 
him  with  a  calm  past  any  understanding.  He  did 
not  know  which  and  he  did  not  care;  it  was  enough 
that  he  could  look  straight  at  Dalton  and  not  even 
change  color! 

"I  have  no  idea  what  you're  talking  about, 
Dalton,"  he  said  quietly. 

Beatrice  leaped  into  action. 

"Dalton !"  she  cried.    "Mary  Dalton's  father?" 

"What?"  Dalton,  momentarily  sidetracked, 
whirled  upon  her.  "You've  heard  something 
from  Mary,  madam?  You  know " 

"I  know  all  about  Mary!"  said  Beatrice  Boiler. 

"Madam!"  Anthony  broke  in.  "I  forbid  you 
to  say  one  word  of  your  ridiculous  and  unjusti- 
fied  " 

Beatrice  simply  ignored  his  presence  and 
favored  Theodore  Dalton  with  her  unspeakable 
smile. 

"Mary  Dalton  passed  the  night  in  this  apart- 
ment," she  said  quickly. 

"Mary "  Dalton  cried,  just  as  Robert  hur- 
ried to  his  side  and  clutched  his  arm. 

"They  say  she  was  here!"  he  panted.     "The 


296  IN  AND  OUX 

woman  says  so,  and  Mary's  hat — see!  She's 
holding  it  even  now!  And  Mary's  bag  is  in  a 
room  there,  and  her  comb  and  brush  and  two  of 
her  handkerchiefs  and " 

"But  it  wasn't  a  woman,  whatever  she's  left!" 
Hobart  Hitchin  contributed.  "It  was  a  boy,  about 
twenty  or  twenty-two — a  boy  Fry  introduced  to 
me  as  David  Prentiss,  and  who  was  Dalton's  son. 
Look!  We  have  his  trousers,  and  Dalton  has 
identified  them  as  his  son's!" 

Dalton's  attention  was  still  upon  Beatrice. 

"You  say  that — that  my  daughter " 

"I  say  that  she  was  here  and  that  she  left 
suddenly  when  I  came,  so  suddenly  that  she  hadn't 
even  time  to  take  her  hat!"  said  Boiler's  charm- 
ing wife.  "Where  she  is  now  I  don't  know;  not 
in  this  apartment  because  I've  searched  it;  prob- 
ably somewhere  else  in  the  house,  because  she 
would  be  unlikely  to  leave  without  a  hat.  But  she 
was  here,  and  if  you  doubt  it,  ask  those  men!" 

Slowly,  Dalton  turned  back  to  Anthony  Fry. 
One  glance  he  sent  down  at  the  automatic  and 
his  finger  settled  over  the  trigger. 

And  still  the  calm  held  Anthony. 

It  was  one  of  the  most  curious  things  he  had 


THE  LIE  297 

ever  experienced,  that  calm,  and  more  curious 
than  the  calm  itself  was  the  astounding  capacity 
for  thought  that  had  come  to  his  tired  brain. 
Except  for  this  last  inexplicable  accusation,  which 
he  discarded,  he  was  thinking  lucidly,  and  swiftly 
and,  by  the  way,  along  a  single  line.  Mary  was 
all  that  mattered  just  now. 

And  to  some  extent,  if  Fate  remained  kind,  he 
saw  his  way  to  saving  Mary,  should  the  girl  have 
sense  enough  to  remain  quiet  in  his  room.  He 
smiled,  did  Anthony,  and  looked  so  confidently, 
so  directly  at  Dalton  that  the  latter  scowled  in 
bewilderment. 

"I  know  nothing  whatever  about  your  son, 
Dalton,"  said  he.  "I  did  not  even  know  that 
you  had  a  son.  Are  you  sure  he  is  not  at 
home?" 

"He  has  not  been  at  home  for  weeks,"  Hitchin 
put  in.  "That's  what  puzzles  us;  how  did  you 
get  him  to  the  city?" 

"From  what  point?" 

"Hillcombe,  in  the  Adirondacks,"  Dalton  said. 
"He " 

"Is  it  possible  to  get  Hillcombe  on  the  long 
distance?" 


298  IN  AND  OUT 

The  unfathomable  self-possession  made  its  own 
impression  on  Dalton. 

"Very  likely,"  he  muttered. 
"Then  if  you  will  give  my  man  the  number  or  the 
name  of  the  hotel,  or  whatever  it  may  be,  he  will 
put  in  the  call,"  said  Anthony  Fry.  "Let  us  hope 
that  you'll  be  able  to  talk  to  your  son  shortly. 
If  he  doesn't  answer,  wire  him,"  Anthony  pursued, 
impatiently.  "That  is  the  very  best  I  can  sug- 
gest." 

Theodore  Dalton's  hand  passed  through  his 
hair,  pausing  to  clutch  it  for  a  moment;  Wilkins, 
waiting  attentively,  met  his  eye  and  Dalton,  hav- 
ing cleared  his  dry  throat,  mumbled  the  name  of 
a  camp  and  turned  back  to  Anthony. 

That  remarkable  figure  was  quite  erect  and 
merely  waiting  for  a  chance  to  speak  again.  So  far 
as  the  general  theme  was  concerned,  his  mind  was 
fairly  well  settled;  it  meant  certain  ruin  for  him, 
if  Dalton  was  kind  enough  to  believe;  it  was  likely 
enough  to  mean  even  criminal  prosecution,  but 
it  bade  fair  to  save  Mary.  Anthony  even  smiled 
composedly  as  he  tacked  on  new  details ;  thus  does 
suffering  refine  us! 

Apparently,  several  of  them  were  about  to  speak 


THE  LIE  299 

at  once.  Anthony  held  up  his  lean,  commanding 
hand  for  silence. 

"One  moment,  please!"  said  the  amazing  An- 
thony. "There  is  no  cause  for  any  further  ex- 
citement, any  further  speculation.  The  thing  has 
gone  too  far  now;  it  has  passed  beyond  me  and — 
I  have  failed." 

"What?"  Robert  rasped. 

Anthony  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"Will  you  all  be  seated?"  he  asked.  "I— I 
wish  to  confess  the  truth!" 

"You  mean  that  you "  Dalton  exploded. 

"I  mean  that  nobody  has  been  injured,  to  the 
best  of  my  knowledge,  and  that  your  daughter 
Mary  is  perfectly  safe,"  Anthony  smiled  sadly. 
"Put  the  gun  away,  Dalton,  and  hear  me  through 
at  least.  Later  on,  if  you  feel  inclined  to  use  it, 
•I  don't  know  that  I  shall  object  greatly.  I  quite 
understand  what  is  likely  to  happen  to  me  when 
you  have  heard  what  I  have  to  tell  and — in  spite 
of  that  the  whole  affair  seems  to  have  tangled 
itself  so  terribly  that  there  is  nothing  to  do  but 
tell  it!" 

He  himself  was  sitting  behind  the  table  now, 
and  he  certainly  claimed  their  attention.  Dalton 


300  IN  AND  OUT 

perched  on  the  edge  of  a  chair;  Robert  took  one 
of  its  arms.  Beatrice  seemed  at  first  unwilling  to 
leave  the  center  of  the  stage,  but  presently  she, 
too,  was  seated — and  Johnson  Boiler  shuffled  to 
a  chair  and  went  into  it  quite  limply,  gazing  at 
Anthony  and  breathing  hard. 

Unless  Anthony  was  lying,  he  meant  to  tell  the 
truth;  and  while  some  of  those  present  might  be- 
lieve the  truth,  Beatrice  Boiler  was  not  among  the 
number. 

"I  don't  know,  Dalton,"  Anthony  began  evenly, 
"that  I  have  anything  to  say  in  extenuation  of 
what  I  have  done.  Evidently  I  lost  my  head, 
even  to  the  point  of  downright  insanity;  some  of 
us  do  that  occasionally,  you  know.  Brooding 
over  the  business  was  responsible,  I  suppose. 
Your  Celestial  Oil  has  been  cutting  pretty  heavily 
into  Imperial  Liniment  this  last  year." 

"Humph!"  said  Dalton. 

"Cutting  in  so  heavily  that  whatever  efforts  I 
have  been  able  to  put  forth  have  been  of  no  avail 
whatever,"  Anthony  pursued.  "Last  week — all 
day  last  Saturday,  in  fact — I  went  over  the  year's 
business  and  it  fairly  maddened  me  to  see  the 
falling  off.  I  spent  Sunday  thinking  and  I  am 


THE  LIE  301 

frank  to  say,  Dalton,  that  by  Sunday  night  I  was 
all  but  ready  to  murder  you.  Toward  midnight 
I  conceived  what  seemed  to  be  a  means  of  forcing 
you  into  some  sort  of  mutual  contract,  by  which 
each  of  us  could  do  business  with  the  assurance 
that  the  other  wasn't  coming  over  to  take  away 
what  didn't  belong  to  him." 

"You  get  away  with  a  thing  like  that?"  Dalton 
demanded. 

"It  was  a  wild  notion,"  Anthony  sighed.  "I 
knew  that  talking  was  useless;  I  knew  that  fighting 
you  openly  was  equally  useless,  because  once  I 
became  too  conspicuous  I  knew  that  you'd  sail  in 
and  wreck  me.  At  the  same  time  something  had 
to  be  done  and  that  in  mighty  short  order,  or 
Fry's  Imperial  was  likely  to  die  a  natural  death. 
Therefore,  Dalton,  I  perfected  the  scheme  of  kid- 
naping your  daughter  and  holding  her  until  you'd 
come  to  terms." 

"Great " 

"Rest  easy!"  Mr.  Fry  smiled.  "Part  of  it 
succeeded,  but  she  hasn't  been  injured  and  I  ask 
you  to  believe,  at  least,  that  I  never  had  any  idea 
of  injuring  her.  What  I  did  mean  to  do  was  to 
threaten  you,  through  a  third  person  I  met  most 


302  IN  AND  OUT 

unfortunately  and  who  is,  not  to  put  too  fine  a 
point  upon  it,  one  of  the  slimiest  crooked  lawyers 
in  the  world — what  I  meant  to  do  was  to  make  you 
understand  that,  unless  you  came  to  terms,  the 
girl  would  be  killed! 

"If  the  details  interest  you  I'll  confess  that  I 
had  a  note  sent  to  the  girl  last  evening,  by  a  mes- 
senger who  succeeded  in  telephoning  her  and 
having  her  meet  him  just  outside  your  home.  The 
note  informed  Miss  Dalton  that  Vining  here — oh, 
sit  still,  Vining,  you  may  settle  with  me  when  I've 
finished — that  Vining  here  was  engaged,  if  not 
actually  married,  to  another  girl.  It  was  a  very 
convincing  note  indeed,  and  the  messenger  was 
instructed  to  tell  Miss  Dalton,  should  the  note 
make  its  impression,  that  he  would  take  her  to  a 
place  where  she  would  be  able  to  observe  with 
her  own  eyes  the  faithlessness  of  one  she  was  on 
the  point  of  trusting  with  her  whole  life !" 

"Well,  by  the  holy "  Robert  began. 

"Every  little  twist  and  turn  of  this  story  I  had 
perfected  beforehand;  I  could  not  see  the  possi- 
bility of  a  slip  and  there  was  no  slip.  It  was 
made  plain  to  Miss  Dalton  that,  if  she  wished  to 
see  Robert  under  the  unpleasant  conditions,  she 


THE  LIE  303 

would  have  to  attire  herself  as  a  man,  for  she  was 
likely  to  spend  some  time  at  least  in  the  back  room 
of  a  saloon.  My  messenger  even  took  her  a  wig 
I  had  provided  for  the  purpose,  and  she  was  in- 
formed that,  if  she  wished  to  take  along  her  own 
proper  clothing,  it  would  be  quite  possible  to  return 
in  that." 

Utter  admiration  possessed  Johnson  Boiler;  yet 
Beatrice,  as  he  knew,  was  watching  him  narrowly. 

"You — you  contemptible  scoundrel!"  Johnson 
Boiler  said  pleasantly. 

Him,  too,  Anthony  ignored. 

"She  took  the  bait,  Dalton,  just  as  I  Ha'd 
planned.  The  man  brought  her  to  me  at  a  point 
— er — outside  this  hotel,  and  she  was  dressed  in 
her  brother's  clothing,  as  it  appears  now.  It  was 
agreed  between  us  that  she  should  take  the  name 
of  David  Prentiss  for  the  evening,  and  under  that 
name  she  was  introduced  to  Hitchin  here.  After 
that  she  was  brought  to  this  apartment." 

Anthony  paused  and  sighed  heavily  and  im- 
pressively, an  erring  man  borne  down  by  his  guilt. 

"Miss  Dalton,  even  as  a  boy,  did  not  look  very 
much  like  a  boy,"  he  pursued.  "It  seemed  better 
to  me  that  she  change  to  her  own  clothes,  and  I 


304  IN  AND  OUT 

requested  her  to  do  so,  on  some  pretext  which, 
I  am  frank  to  say,  slips  my  mind  at  the  moment. 
She  came  into  this  room  afterward  and,  as  I  had 
planned,  a  little  luncheon  was  waiting  for  us.  She 
drank  a  cup  of  coffee  and — it  had  been  drugged." 

"Where  was  Johnson  Boiler  all  this  time?" 
Beatrice  asked. 

Although  Johnson  Boiler  held  his  breath,  An- 
thony Fry  batted  never  an  eyelash.  Dignified, 
austere  exponent  of  the  rock-ribbed  truth  that  he 
had  once  been,  all  his  sails  were  set  now  and  the 
rudder  lashed  in  place  for  the  sinful  course.  It 
would  have  been  a  downright  effort  just  then  for 
Anthony  to  have  told  the  truth  about  anything 
whatever. 

"Johnson  never  came  until  an  hour  after  it  was 
over,"  he  said.  "He  went  to  a  prize  fight,  Mrs. 
Boiler,  and  after  that  met  some  out-of-town  people 
in  the  woolen  trade  and  worked  until  nearly  two 
this  morning  winding  up  a  contract." 

"D'ye  see?"  said  Johnson  Boiler,  when  his 
breath  came  back.  "D'ye  see?  You  had  me  down 
for  everything  that  was  worst  in  the  world,  kid, 
and  now  you  hear  the  truth." 

All  unaware  was  Anthony  Fry  of  the  sharp 


THE  LIE  305, 

start  of  Hobart  Hitchin.  All  unaware  was  he  that 
the  crime-student,  rousing  from  his  partially  scared 
state,  had  smiled  suddenly.  All  unaware,  in  fact, 
was  Anthony,  of  the  terrible  slip  he  had  just 
made. 

"That  is  almost  all  of  the  story,"  he  said,  with 
a  miserable  little  smile  at  Dalton.  "The  young 
lady  was  taken,  in  an  automobile,  half-stupefied, 
to — a  certain  town  in  New  Jersey,  Dalton.  She 
is  unharmed  and  has  been  unharmed;  that  at  least 
I  am  able  to  guarantee  you." 

"And  she's  there  now?"  Dalton  cried. 

"She  is  there  now  and " 

"What  town?" 

"That  I  will  not  tell  you,  because  it  will  involve 
several  poor  devils  I've  hired  in  connection  with 
this  mad  affair,"  said  Anthony.  "But  if  you  will 
permit  me,  I  will  go  for  the  young  lady  myself — 
stipulating  only  that  I  shall  not  be  followed — and 
I  will  return  her  to  your  house  before  three  o'clock 
this  afternoon.  After  that,  Dalton,"  said  An- 
thony, drawing  himself  up,  "I'm  willing  to  take 
my  medicine.  I  know  that  it's  coming  and  I'm 
willing " 

"You'll  get  it,   never   fear,"   snarled   Mary's 


306  IN  AND  OUT 

father.  "But  about  Mary!  Tell  me  the  name 
of  this  town  or " 

"I  shall  tell  you  nothing  whatever!"  Anthony 
said  firmly.  "I  shall  tell  you  only  that,  under  the 
conditions  I  have  named,  I  will  very  gladly  go  to 
Jersey  and  get  her." 

"You're  sure  she's  there  now?"  Robert  said 
hoarsely. 

"I  am  absolutely  sure,"  said  Anthony,  "that  she 
is  now  in  New  Jersey  under  guard." 

And  now,  with  Dalton's  murderous  impulses 
stilled  at  least,  with  many  things  fairly  well  ex- 
plained and  new  minutiae  coming  into  his  head 
every  second  should  this,  that  or  the  other  ques- 
tion be  asked,  just  as  Anthony  leaned  back,  two 
new  quantities  must  needs  enter.  The  first  was 
Hobart  Hitchin.  The  second  was  a  strong  breeze, 
which  always  came  through  the  living-room  when 
Wilkins  left  open  the  door  and  the  window  of  his 
pantry. 

"Fry,"  said  the  crime-student,  and  if  a  snake 
owned  a  voice  it  would  be  as  slithery  and  oily  as  the 
voice  of  Hobart  Hitchin  just  then,  "Fry,  you  say 
that  Boiler  came  in  several  hours  after  you  came 
in  last  night?  Didn't  I  see  you  both  downstairs?" 


THE  LIE  307 

"Eh?"  Anthony  said. 

"And  Fry,"  the  reptilian  voice  added,  "you 
haven't  told  us  what  was  in  the  trunk  you  sent  to 
Dalton's  house,  you  know." 

Anthony  straightened  up  again.  Two  seconds 
were  passed,  and  still  he  had  not  the  answer; 
three,  and  he  was  still  silent;  four,  and  he  had 
not  yet  spoken.  And  the  playful  breeze  saved 
him  all  the  trouble  of  speaking.  The  latch  of 
Anthony's  bedroom  door  was  not  caught,  and  the 
breeze,  striking  it  squarely,  sent  it  open  suddenly 
and  cleanly  as  if  jerked  back  by  a  wire! 

And  leaning  forward  in  her  chair,  even  now 
listening  intently,  Mary  Dalton  was  revealed! 

Anthony  Fry  did  not  move ;  this  was  because  he 
could  not.  But  with  a  single  motion  Theodore 
Dalton  and  Robert  Vining,  Johnson  Boiler  and 
Johnson  Boiler's  wife,  were  on  their  feet  and 
staring  at  her.  With  a  single  plunge,  Dalton  and 
Vining  went  forward,  and  the  former  winning,  he 
snatched  Mary  to  him  and  wrapped  the  great 
arms  around  her,  mouthing  and  mumbling  and 
shouting  all  at  once! 

Still  Anthony  did  not  move.  He  had  not  moved 
when,  through  the  swirl  that  was  before  his  eyes, 


3o8  IN  AND  OUT 

Mary  and  her  father  came  into  the  room.  The 
girl  had  disengaged  herself  and  she  was  rather 
pale — ah,  and  she  was  speaking  to  her  father. 

"Dad,"  she  said  very  quietly,  "have  I  ever  told 
you  a  lie?" 

"You'd  be  no  daughter  of  mine  if  you  had," 
Dalton  said  simply. 

"Then  what  happened  is  just  this:  I  wanted 
to  go  to  that  fight  last  night  and  Bob  wouldn't 
take  me.  He  was  so  awfully  uppish  about  it  that 
I  decided  to  go  myself;  I  like  a  good  fight,  you 
know.  I  didn't  dare  go  as  a  girl,  so  I  put  on 
Dicky's  fishing  suit — the  old  one — and  sneaked 
out  the  back  door,  after  you  thought  I  was  in  bed. 
Then  I  got  a  messenger  boy  and  managed  to  find 
a  ticket  for  the  fight.  And  I  went,"  said  Mary, 
"and  I  happened  to  sit  next  to  Mr.  Fry." 

"You  went  alone  to  a  prize  fight?"  her  father 
gasped. 

"It  was  horribly  tame,"  said  Mary,  "but  some 
men  started  a  fight  behind  us,  because  Mr.  Fry 
spoke  to  me,  I  think,  and  that  wasn't  tame  at  all. 
For  a  minute  it  scared  my  wits  out,  because  I 
thought  we  were  all  going  to  be  arrested.  So 
vhen  Mr.  Fry  and  Mr.  Boiler  decided  to  escape 


THE  LIE  309 

in  a  taxicab,  I  was  mighty  glad  to  go  with  them. 
After  that  Mr.  Fry — turned  queer,"  Mary  dim- 
pled. "He  thought  I  was  a  boy  and  he  wanted 
to  offer  me  the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime. 

"I  don't  know  just  what  it  meant,  but  I  was 
curious  enough  to  come  up  here  and  listen;  and 
when  I  didn't  appreciate  what  he  was  offering,  Mr. 
Fry  got  mad.  He  told  me  he'd  keep  me  here 
until  I  did,  so  I — I  just  went  to  bed  and  counted 
on  getting  out  overnight,  somehow.  I  tried  it 
and  I  missed  fire,  and  this  morning  he  discovered 
that  I  was  a  girl.  That's  the  whole  story;  we've 
all  been  trying  to  get  me  out  of  here  ever  since — 
and  I'm  still  here !" 

"But  the  trunk "  Hobart  Hitchin  put  in 

doggedly. 

"I  was  in  the  trunk,"  said  Mary.  "We  thought 
I  could  get  to  Felice's  room  that  way,  but  Felice 
was  gone,  so  Wilkins  brought  me  back."  She 
looked  at  her  father  steadily  and  almost  con- 
fidently. "That  weird  tale  about  having  me 
drugged  was  just  to  save  me,  dad,  and  maybe  if 
the  door  hadn't  blown  open  I'd  have  been  home 
about  three  and  swearing  to  it.  That's  all.  Mr. 
Fry — Mr.  Boiler,  too — have  been  too  nice  for 


310  IN  AND  OUT 

words,"  concluded  Mary,  stretching  a  point. 
"There  isn't  a  thing  to  blame  them  for — and  I 
never  could  have  believed  that  Mr.  Fry  was  cap- 
able of  a  lovely  lie  like  that." 

Since  seven  that  morning,  at  which  time  Mary's 
absence  had  been  discovered,  Theodore  Dalton 
had  been  breathing  in  terrible,  spasmodic  gasps. 
Now,  as  he  faced  Anthony,  he  breathed  deeply — 
breathed  deeply  again — and  turned  Anthony's  tot- 
tering world  quite  upside  down  by  suddenly 
thrusting  out  his  hand. 

"Well,  by  gad,  Fry!"  he  bellowed.  "I  knew 
you  were  crazy,  but  I  never  suspected  you  were 
man  enough  for  that!  I'd  swallowed  that  tale 
almost  whole  and  I'd  made  up  my  mind  to  wipe 
you  and  your  bottled  mess  off  the  map  to- 
gether." 

•"I  know,"  said  Anthony. 

"But  if  there's  one  thing  that  hits  me  right 
where  I  live,"  vociferated  Dalton,  "it's  a  man  who 
will  chuck  his  own  every  earthly  interest  aside  to 
save  a  woman's  name  and — put  it  there,  Fry  I 
You're  a  man!" 

A  little  uncertainly,  because  he  was  dazed  and 
dizzy,  Anthony  grasped  the  hairy  hand.  It  was 


THE  LIE  311 

not  so,  because  it  was  impossible,  but — he  and 
Dalton  were  friends ! 

Beatrice  was  within  a  yard  of  her  husband. 

"Then  there  was — was  nothing "  she  fal- 
tered. 

"There  was  nothing  to  get  excited  about — no," 
Johnson  Boiler  said  stiffly.  "Not  at  any  time." 

"Pudgy!"  Beatrice  said  chokily,  because  her 
volatile  nature  was  whizzing  breathlessly  down 
from  the  exalted  murder-state  to  the  depths  of 
contrition. 

"Well?     What?"  Johnson  Boiler  said  coldly. 

"Pudgy-wudgy,  can  you  ever  forgive  me?" 
Beatrice  cried,  burying  her  head  on  his  shoul- 
der. 

"I  don't  know,"  Johnson  Boiler  said  frigidly, 
and  did  not  even  put  an  arm  around  her.  "I 
don't  know,  Beatrice.  You  have  wounded  me 
more  deeply  this  day  than  I  have  ever  been 
wounded  in  all  my  life  before.  I  shall  try  in  time 
to  forgive  you,  but — I  do  not  know." 

They  were  all  gone  now,  all  but  Anthony  and 
his  old  friend,  Johnson  Boiler. 

It  was  in  fact  nearly  noon,  for  with  the  tension 


312  IN  AND  OUT 

i  " 

removed  Mary  had  gone  into  the  details  of  last 

night;  and  after  a  little  even  Robert  Vining  had 
laughed.  He  at  least  knew  Anthony  Fry  and  he 
believed  Johnson  Boiler  to  be  one  of  the  most 
harmless  fat  men  in  existence,  so  that  when  he  had 
heard  it  all  even  Robert  fell  to  chuckling. 

And  now  they  were  gone  with  Mary,  leaving 
behind  a  conviction  in  Anthony's  bosom  that  Mary 
was  really  a  very  charming  young  girl;  leaving 
an  impression,  too,  that,  could  twenty  years  have 
been  swept  from  his  forty-five,  he  might  even  have 
undertaken  to  win  her  away  from  Robert!  This 
last  impression  was  transitory  in  the  extreme, 
however;  it  endured  for  perhaps  forty-five 
seconds. 

Hobart  Hitchin  was  gone;  he  had  vanished 
somewhere  about  the  middle  of  the  session,  leav- 
ing Richard's  trousers,  and  for  a  long  time  nobody 
even  noticed  that  he  was  among  the  missing.  To 
the  best  of  Johnson  Boiler's  memory,  he  left  just 
after  Richard  answered  the  long  distance  call  and 
assured  his  father  that  all  was  well. 

Beatrice  was  gone,  too.  She  had  left  all 
wreathed  in  smiles,  since  the  idiot  that  was  her 
husband  could  not  maintain  his  chilliness  for  more 


THE  LIE  313 

than  five  minutes.  In  a  dusky  corner,  Johnson 
and  his  cyclonic  lady  had  kissed  eighteen  times, 
lingeringly,  and  then  she  had  left  him  to  pack  up 
and  follow,  while  she  went  personally  to  the  five- 
thousand-dollar  apartment  to  prepare  the  things 
he  most  liked  for  luncheon. 

And  now  Johnson  Boiler  had  packed  the 
grip,  while  Anthony  lounged,  tired  out,  weak 
in  knees  and  hands,  trembling  every  now  and 
then  and  gazing  into  the  blue  cigar  smoke  above 
him. 

"The  next  time  I  come  to  stay  with  you  I'm 
going  to  bring  a  chaperon,"  Boiler  mused. 

"Do." 

"You  came  pretty  near  wrecking  my  home  that 
time,  Anthony." 

"Pah!"  snarled  Anthony. 

Johnson  Boiler  pursued  the  strain  no  further. 
Instead,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  he  picked 
up  a  book  from  the  top  of  the  case  and  turned 
its  pages  idly.  After  which  he  smiled  suddenly 
and  said,  with  the  utmost  alertness. 

"You  have  a  lot  of  poetry,  haven't  you?" 

"I'm  fond  of  it,"  said  Anthony,  absently. 

"Here's  a  pretty  little  thing,"  Johnson  Boiler 


3H  IN  AND  OUT 

pursued  in  his  very  gentlest  voice.  "This  is  awful 
pretty.  Listen : 

"Master  of  human  destinies  am  I; 
Fame,  love  and  fortune  on " 

1  Here  he  ceased  abruptly.  He  shrieked  glee- 
fully, did  Johnson  Boiler,  and  ducked  almost 
down  to  the  floor. 

i  This  was  as  well,  because  Anthony's  little  blue 
vase,  for  which  he  had  paid  sixty  dollars  in  Canton, 
had  splintered  on  the  wall,  just  where  Johnson 
Boiler's  head  had  been! 

THE  END. 


^ 

/ 


